


Last Winter Break

by therudestflower



Series: Pulitzer University [1]
Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Also Hanukkah, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Generation College Students, Is this being unseasonably posted? Yes, M/M, Netflix and Chill, Underage Drinking, Winter Break, christmas in july
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-01 01:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15132077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therudestflower/pseuds/therudestflower
Summary: When David and Spot realize they are the only ones in their dorm staying behind for winter break, they make the logical decision to spend some time together. It's evolutionary instinct, really. Nothing romantic about it.





	1. Shake it Off, Shake it Off

David didn't think about winter break until it was actually happening.

There were finals. There were shifts at the library. There were parties with Jack and his friends. Then there was just David, alone in a dorm room with nothing to distract him from the fact that he wasn't home.

Jack had left just an hour ago. He was taking the train. It would take two days to get from Penn Station to Santa Fe, and Jack would probably fall in love at least three times on the trip. All of his friends had found a way to go home. Some were local, like Mush who lived in Queens and was a subway ride away. He'd invited David to visit, but David could tell he was being polite.

David was alone in his dorm room and his family was in Chicago.

They lived in Lodging House, the oldest dorm at Pulitzer University. Usually noise echoed between the thin walls. At 5:00 on a Friday David would usually be hearing the sounds of forty college freshmen preparing for the weekend. But it was silent.

David collapsed on his bed, and looked at the mess of papers and post-its on his desk. It wouldn't be official for another couple days, but David was sure that he'd accomplished the 3.5 GPA that he needed to keep his scholarship. He wanted to celebrate, but he had no idea how without Jack.

David hadn't even known Jack until four months ago--why did life seem so impossible with him gone? David had other friends in high school, but Jack had created David's life at Pulitzer. He held his hand through his first taste of alcohol, and most importantly his first party. David probably would never have eaten this past week if Jack wasn't right next to him, dropping Rolos on his textbook.

It would be three weeks until winter break was over, and everyone came back. David had never been alone for more than a couple hours at a time, especially not in a new city. Now that he had the brain space to think about it, he was panicking.

Staying on campus over break seemed like a no-brainer. He made pretty good money at the library, but it wasn't "buy plane tickets during Christmas" good. In November campus housing had sent an email stating that everyone was expected to vacate their dorms over winter break, and to email them if a student needed housing for "extenuating circumstances." It didn't specify what those circumstances might be, but when David looked at his bank account and the cost of a ticket from Manhattan to Chicago on December 17th, he was pretty sure his circumstances applied.

Jack had invited him to come home with him, which mostly just confused David. He was rather sure that Jack's "home" was a series of friend's well worn-in couches. David begged off, and with a few calls to his scholarship advisor and campus housing, he had permission to stay in the dorm over break.

Dad called him a few days after David got approval to stay on campus. "We want you to come home," he said, "Whatever it takes."

David nearly choked. "Dad--I, I don't think I can--"

"I know you're busy with your papers and your libraries, but there has to be time for family," Dad said.

His parents had never bought plane tickets. They'd never needed to, no one in their family had left their Chicago enclave since the late 1800's. "Dad, it's not the school it's just not possible. You know I'd love too but it's so much money. It'd be irresponsible."

"How much could it be? We're proud of how hard you work, but your mother and I can pitch one once in a while, you know."

"I know, I just like that I can look after myself."

David didn't mention that he'd had to send money home just a week ago. It's not that he held a grudge, it was just the reality of the situation. While his dormmates burned money, knowing a quick call home would refill their bank account, David budgeted half his income as "for the family." If they let him, he'd send them regular checks. But David's parents, especially his Dad, hadn't accepted the state of things as easily as him. They pretended times David wired them money were one-time emergencies, and that they were the kind of parents who could chip in to fly him home for Hanukkah.

David didn't resent them, he just wished they'd catch up to reality.

"Besides," he added, "I'm sure Les would rather I shipped him some killer presents than see my ugly mug."

"We're your family David, you spend this time of year with family. Let us help you."

"Round trip, it's three hundred dollars, Dad."

The conversation ended quickly after that. It was obvious Dad wanted him to come home, but he didn't push. Now David wished he had. Pulitzer University was a small school, but there had to be someone who was driving to Chicago, or a bus or something. David was just too focused on not getting a C in Statistics to even think about it.

After quietly sending Mom money for to get her car fixed, David had $36 dollars in his bank account. He opened his laptop and began searching. Mostly he was looking to confirm what he already new. Any way to get to Chicago between today and the first night of Hanukkah cost hundreds of dollars.

So David was alone in his dorm room and his family was in Chicago.

 

* * *

 

For Spot Conlon, having somewhere to stay for the winter was a little less fraught

Denton, his scholarship advisor, had made it clear that Spot would be allowed to stay in campus housing year round. He was practically holding back tears when he told Spot he "didn't need to worry about where he would sleep anymore." As a legally homeless student, the university would "watch out for him" during his for years at Pulitzer University.

Spot was very capable of watching out for himself, thank-you-very-much, but he wasn't about to turn a good thing down. Boots made some noise about staying with him at his Auntie's over Christmas, but Spot still planned on staying in the dorms. With all the rich kids gone over break, Spot could take 45-minute hot showers and no one would say shit.

If anyone asked he wouldn’t say shit, but Spot was relieved that the semester was over. Pulitzer wasn't exactly Harvard, but it was miles harder than the high school Spot had managed to attend in Brooklyn. For one thing, homework was actually collected. It wasn't given out like a little play the teacher put on to pretend like anyone was going to do it. Spot didn't realize that until six weeks in, and he spent the rest of the semester trying like hell not to fuck up too much and lose his scholarship.

He'd been waiting for someone to realize they'd mistake letting him stay here since day one, but until then he was going to take the longest showers possible.

Lodging House was dead quiet when Spot got back from work. It didn't freak him out or anything, but Spot focused on the sound of traffic outside as he climbed up to the fourth floor. Noise was Spot's normal, and the Lodging House usually provided plenty of it. Denton had said that some other students on the Roosevelt Scholarship were staying on campus too. Spot didn't ask which ones, because he wasn't freaked out at the idea of being alone. The Lodging House was The Fucking Plaza compared to some of the places he'd spent the night alone.

Still, it was freaking _quiet_.

Spot dropped his bag and immediately grabbed his shower stuff. Racetrack had left his ridiculous shower speaker and Spot took a minute to figure how to hook it up to his phone while the water warmed up. Now that he had the chance Spot had been wanting to try playing his music in the shower. He'd been waiting until now, because it wasn't anyone else's business what kind of music Spot Conlon listened too.

Music started playing from the speaker, and Spot felt the hot water, grinning. These were the perks of being alone.

 

* * *

 

 

David decided the best thing to do was to go to sleep early and see if things felt better in the morning. To help this process he took a few shots of Jack's whiskey. After texting him for permission, of course.

Feeling warm and somewhat better, David changed into his Debate Club sweatshirt and pajama pants. He went to double check that the door was locked when he noticed some noise. There was always some ambient noise in the city, but David could block it out well enough to know when a noise was nearby. David opened the door. The noise was coming from the bathroom and it was definitely music.

Someone was here! David walked towards the door and debated what to do. Would it be creepy to go in? No, it wouldn't because he lived here. It was his bathroom, as much as the music person. He knew definitively that Racetrack Higgins listened to music in the shower, but not this kind of music. David could hear more clearly that is was Taylor Swift, which he was intimately familiar with thanks to Sarah. Specifically, this song was "Shake it Off." And it couldn't be Racetrack, because he was flying home to New Orleans.

David stood outside the door for a few minutes and came to a decision. He would wait for the music to stop, then he would go into the bathroom and accidentally run into the person. Happy with his decision, David went to the room, took another shot and waited for an hour.

Whoever it was David was quite sure they were going to be very pruney when he met them.

Finally, the music stopped, and David hurried to the bathroom. He could hear someone moving around. David began washing his hands and waited. After a few minutes Spot Conlon appeared in the mirror behind him.

"Hello," David said.

"Hi," Spot Conlon said, like the word was a question. He was fully dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that was clinging to his wet skin. "You're Jack's David, yeah?"

"Yes," David said. "I'm not Jack's, though. I am friends with Jack but I am not Jack's."

"Okay," Spot said. "I'm gonna..." then he walked out of the bathroom.

David went back to his room and waited an appropriate amount of time before going to knock on Spot's door. Overall he was being very thoughtful and appropriate. He mentally congratulated himself on it as he knocked on Spot's door.

He knew which door was Spot and Racetrack's because it was the only one without any decorations. They'd removed the name badges the RA put on it. He'd once heard Race say it was to be "discrete", but it made their room very easy to find when David was four shots in.

David knocked and used the very long time it took Spot to answer the door to finalize what he would say. Spot opened the door. His hair was almost dry and was doing the thing his hair did where it looked very good. It was a good thing David was prepared and would not be distracted.

"Hello," he said. "We're both here for winter break, right? And we are probably the only ones in the building. I don't know if you're from here, but I'm not and I would rather not be alone the entire time. So it may be a good idea for us to spend some time together. Right?"

Spot frowned and closed the door. Unprepared for this, David lifted his hand to knock again, but Spot opened the door. "I'm kidding," Spot said, very seriously.

David nodded. "Are you drunk?" Spot asked.

"Not quite yet."

"Have you had food yet?"

"No."

That's how he found himself back in his room, but with Spot there and a bevy of fancy snacks.

"Racetrack is an idiot. He spends a fortune to get these sent to us. But he lets me eat them, so."

David nodded, munching on some kind of nut berry cluster. Spot helped himself to the whiskey, drinking straight from the bottle. He put it down, coughing. "This is shit. It's yours?"

"Jack's," David says after he swallowed his food.

"Jack is an idiot." Spot takes another drink anyway, and sits down on Jacks' bed with the bottle. "You been drinking alone all night?"

"Not all night, just for a little," David reflected. That sounded childish. "Not for long," he corrected.

"You think I'm not from here?" Spot accused, pointing the bottle at him.

"What?"

"You said you didn't know if I was from here or not. Where do I sound like I'm from?"

David did not care for Spot's tone. Like he was a child who had made a mistake. But there was an undeniable accent with the tone. "Brooklyn, I guess."

"You _guess_. Jesus, make a statement."

"We're not in Brooklyn. When I said I wasn't sure if you were from here or not, I would have been right unless I thought you were from Manhattan."

"If you're from Brooklyn why aren't you home right now?"

"I was looking for a little peace and quiet, actually," Spot saild easily. "You're a Roosevelter, right?" 

David knew Spot had the same scholarship as him. Ten students had the Roosevelt Scholarship. Full, tuition, books, and even a small stipend that meant to remove the need for them to work. All the recipients came to campus a week earlier than everyone else to do bonding activities and talk about "breaking-the-cycle." So Spot asking if he was a Roosevelter—like they hadn’t shared the same multipurpose rooms for a week—was a little insulting.

David made most of his friends during that week, including Jack. Almost everyone found their group during that week. But Spot was a pain in the ass the whole time. He refused to participate in activities and ditched half of them.

Their scholarship advisors never acknowledged it, but the Roosevelt Grant was for people whose lives were so adverse that even getting into college was a miracle. They all knew it. Half of them didn't have the academic track record to get into Pulitzer University, including David. Freshman and sophomore year he had good grades, but then he started skipping class to work. It was a no-brainer at the time. Disability benefits didn't come in until a year after his Dad's accident at the plant. They needed food on the table, it wasn't like David was going to college anyway.

Sometimes David felt embarrassed by his life, compared to the rest of the Roosevelters. His parents weren't even that poor. Almost everyone else had been homeless at some point or had even been to juvie. Jack liked to tease him about it, proclaiming him "King David"

“Yeah,” David said, not acknowledging how ridiculous the question was. “Do you think you finished the term okay?”

It was a question all the Roosevelters had been asking each other. They needed a 3.5 GPA to stay off probation for the scholarship, and for most of them, it was something they fought tooth and nail to earn.

Spot rolled his eyes, “Like I care about that. You think Denty wants one of his precious Roosevelters to fail out of the program?”

“He’s not in charge,” David said, then he hiccupped but recovered very nicely, “the board of directors determines who stays in the program.”

Spot waved his hand dismissively, “They want our sad little stories to become triumphant, believe me. No one is investing this much money in you, just to kick you out because you forgot a citation on your essay on Plato.”

David had never thought of it like that. In his experience people stuck to their word. Rules were rules, and he had never had a good experience from breaking one. But there were upperclassmen Roosevelters he was aware of who partied hard and couldn’t possibly be pulling at 3.5. Maybe Spot was right?

No.

David was just drunk, that’s why he was considering it. He was right to break his back and pull all-nighters to earn the 3.5 he had coming.

“You’re wrong,” David said confidently.

Spot laughed. “Okay. Fine. I’m wrong.”

“You are,” David finished.

Spot rolled his eyes again and took another straight drink from the bottle. He gestured to the boxy TV on Jack’s dressed that had be “procured” at some point in the semester. “That work?”

“Yeah,”

“You got Netflix?”

David did not have Netflix but Racetrack did, and Spot went back to his room to get his Roosevelt issued laptop and quickly hooked Netflix up on the screen. Without asking David he started a war movie and handed David the bottle. He watched expectantly while David took a pull from the bottle, then took the bottle back and returned to Jack’s bed where he sat sideways with his shoes hanging off the end.

After the video had been playing for a few minutes Spot said, “This is not ‘Netflix and Chill’”

David pulled his legs up on his bed, almost to get further away from Spot. The room was narrow, if he dangled his legs off the bed he risked his feet touching Spots shoes and that would _not do._

“I know that,” David said, “This is just two people who are here for break, not being stupid enough to spend the entire time alone.”

“Right,” Spot agreed.

David was properly drunk now, and he knew it because when he started to fall asleep the didn’t panic at the knowledge that Spot was still in the room and his valuables were unsecured. As his eyes drifted shut, he glanced over to Jack’s bed and saw that Spot’s eyes were closed, and his body was slumped over with the light of the TV illuminating his face.

His last thought before falling asleep came through his mind clear as day.

_I can’t believe Spot Conlon listens to Taylor Swift._


	2. Marking Days

Spot woke up to a crick in his neck and a numb left foot.

It was not a good way to wake up.

He opened his eyes and took a quick inventory of the situation. He was in Jack's room, and his roommate David was sleeping in the bed across from him. Spot quietly sat up and shook his leg to try to wake it up. He checked his watch: 4:07 AM. Fuck. He had no reason to be awake at this hour on a Saturday.

He crept back into his room. It was oddly quiet without Racetrack thrashing around and sleep talking. As long as he was awake he booted up his computer and checked in requests on his interface for “Quick Papers” which had been flooded with requests as universities across the country entered finals week. It was easier to run his phony paper writing business now that he had a laptop, and easier still now that he had all but nameless employees to farm the papers out to. He emailed assignments to his employees. It would do good for his employees to think that he was up working at this hour. But that was all he did before closing his laptop and going bed because fuck him if he was starting his day at 4 AM.

He only woke up when the need to piss made itself known. Once that was taken care of he checked his phone at the bathroom sink, rubbing his face blearily.

_4 Messages from Racetrack 1 Messages from Boots_

Racetrack's texts were spread over twelve hours, sent at seemingly random intervals. 

_landed safely in nola. i thank you deeply for your thoughts and prayers_

_try not to miss me too much. i know i'm your only friend in all of new york. your mysterious past was just sitting in a corner eating saltines until the blessed day i became your roommate_

_speaking of saltines: my ricotta will go bad soon. eat it now_

_if your gluttonous ass hasn't already scarfed it down_

Spot didn't respond. At this point, Race wouldn't expect him to. Their entire chat history was onesided except the first few weeks when Spot tried much harder to be normal.

He was expecting a text from Boots; they had tentative plans to go shopping for gifts for Boots’ new family. He opened the text.

_Hi Spot. Are you done with school? I'm done with school. You can come to Aunt Elane's now if you want. I toled her about that we were going Christmas shopping and she said OK as long as you talk to her first._

Shit. Boots sent that at 8. It was nine now. Spot tried to never make Boots wait for a reply.

_I will be there in 30 minutes._

The symbol for typing appeared on the screen. Spot carefully moved back to his room, never taking his eyes off his phone. The symbol appeared and disappeared as Boots paused to figure out how to write a word. Spot could picture him sitting on Aunt Elane's couch, staring at the phone like he'd hope it'd write the words for him. The message came through after a few minutes.

_Hi Spot. Aunt Elane said never mind. Because we are going upstate with her son. The one you said looks like a horse stepped on. She said you can maybe come Monday but you can't spend the night._

Boots sent a second message immediately

_Sorry._

Spot gripped his phone to keep from throwing it. To anyone else, Aunt Elane was the hero of Boots' life. When the police found him living in a broken down car with no one but a teenager named _Spot_ to look after him, she swooped in and gave Boots a new life. She got him in school. She bought him new clothes. To everyone else, she was a hero. But she nothing but a pain in Spot's ass.

He hadn't seen Boots for over a month. Before he could blame the tyrannical control of the group home that he was living in—as bad as juvie most days with worse food—but now it was just Auntie Elane who was keeping him from checking up on Boots.

Spot got ready to go out, planning to take the 1 up to Washington Heights and camp out outside Aunt Elane's apartment. See what excuse she could make up when Spot was standing right in front of Boots and it was obvious who really cared about his wellbeing.

He showered quickly, not bothering with the stupid speaker that David Jacobs had surely heard last night. He didn’t know whether to laugh or throw a punch when he walked out of the shower stall and found David standing at the sink, flossing his teeth.

“You stalking me?” he asked airily.

“What?” David asked, holding the floss up between his fingers like he was in some sitcom from the eighties. “What are you talking about?”

Spot ran a hand through his wet hair and gestured between them. “This is the second time in twenty-four hours I come out of a shower to find you waiting for me. You could just text, you know.”

David shook his head, “Honestly, I’m just trying to get ready for work. I swear. You can check my schedule. This is when I was planning on flossing.”

The fuck. “You schedule when you floss?”

David shrugged, “I’m busy. I need to keep a schedule to stay on top of things.”

Spot whistled. The explanation was too stupid and David was too smart to come up with it if it wasn’t true. Pathetic, but not a lie. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again,” he said.

“Yeah sure,” David said, “Like I’m in such a rush to see all this,” he said, gesturing to Spot.

Spot didn’t look down at himself. He was fully clothed, wearing a flannel over a thermal shirt and jeans with his boots that he already laced in the shower stall. His hair was wet which couldn’t be helped, but he knew made him look ridiculous. Was David referring to his height? Was he making fun of him?

He needed to get to Boots. He didn’t have time for this.

“Make sure this doesn’t happen again,” he repeated.

“You got it,” David said, and went back to flossing. He stopped before Spot went through the bathroom door and called out, “I taped my number to your bedroom door.”

Spot ignored him. David didn’t need to know that he programmed the number into his phone as he walked down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

David was relieved that the university library was still open over winter break, albeit with shortened hours. He couldn’t afford to go three weeks without a paycheck just because of some holiday he didn’t care about at all. He was grateful for the position at the library even if it didn’t pay enough or give him enough hours to really get by on.

It was snowing hard. David used his hand to shield his face from the gusts of snow as he hurried to the university library. It was in the first two floors of an old building half a mile from the lodging house, and his boots held up well as he trudged through muddy slush.

His supervisor stopped him when he went to the reference desk and sent him to the third floor with a cart of books to reshelve. He spent the entire day shelving tried hard not to think about his family back home. Sara had filled the family group chat with photos of Les making colorful pancakes. David tried not to think about what he was missing out on as he ate his third granola bar of the day for lunch.

After lunch he was shelving on the second floor, trying desperately not to think of home when he got a welcome surprise. Mush appeared in the classic section, grinning. He had his winter coat folder over his arm, and with his other arm he pulled David into a hard hug.

“David!” he sang, “My buddy my pal, what a wonderful surprise to see you!”

“I work here,” David said, pulling away, “What are you doing here?”

Mush shrugged, still grinning, “I have an Incomplete in Intro to Philosophy. I have one more paper to write, then I’m done, done, done.”

David’s brain brought up his Latin American History paper and he fought to tamp the thoughts down. He focused on Mush instead.

“Do you need help finding a book?” he asked.

Mush shook his head, “I’m just here to get away from some of the craziness back home. I told you about it, five siblings, one bathroom, one table. I don’t know how I ever got work done in high school, man. I needed to get to a library and I thought, hey, which library in this city has one of my favorite people in it?”

“So you came all the way from Queens?” David asked.

Mush shrugged again, “Like I said, one of my favorite people is in this library.”

He didn’t realize Mush considered him such a good friend. It was nice that he even considered coming out here, even though David was sure that part of it was because Pulitzer University had some of the best resources on ancient philosophy in the city.

“I get off at 5?” David said, “If you wanted, I could make you dinner.”

Mush’s smile faltered and he shook his head, “I gotta get home, Momma is making a big dinner to celebrate me being home. Rain check though?”

“Rain check,” David agreed.

Mush left at four, and David’s supervisor told him to leave soon after. He had enough money for some groceries, he decided. He would pick something good up for dinner. Maybe he’d invite Spot to join him. To be polite.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Spot an hour to get uptown and by the time he got inside Aunt Elane’s apartment building, his hair had bits of ice stuck in it from the snow, and snow had gotten inside his green coat. He shook out his hair in the vestibule of the building and stomped his feet to get the snow off.

He had to be calm when he saw Aunt Elane. He couldn’t fly off the handle. If she still thought he was a violent hooligan she would work even harder to keep him away from Boots. So he took three deep breaths—if anyone was around to see him use techniques Denton taught during those meetings he would kill them—and made his way to the seventh floor.

When he got to the landing Boots and Aunt Elane were coming out into the hall, wrapped up in scarves and hats. Aunt Elane was really Boots' great aunt, she had gray hear and mean looking wrinkles that found Spot standing at the end of the hallway and glared over Boots' shoulder.

Spot didn’t care. Boots lit up and ran down the hall, stopping short in front of Spot. Spot lifted his hand to offer a high five and Boots enthusiastically returned it, smacking Spot hard in the hand. Spots didn’t shake his hand out when he lowered it but _fuck._

“Hey smudge,” Spot said, grinning. “How’s it rolling?”

“Did you get my text?” Boots asked sounding a little confused, “We’re going upstate to see Aunt Elane’s son.”

Aunt Elane made he way down the hall, stopping with her hand possessively on Boot’s shoulder. “Isaiah says he texted you and you didn’t respond.”

“Within an hour,” Spot snapped. So much for keeping his cool. “You said we could go Christmas shopping. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the deal wasn’t that I had to respond the second Boots texted.”

“Isaiah needs consistency,” Aunt Elane sniped, “We had plans to go see my son, so that is what we will do. You may come over on Monday when we return.”

For three years on the streets Spot was the only one in the world looking out for Boots, and now Aunt Elane acted like she knew what was best. She didn’t even buy Boots Twinkies, his favorite food, so how could she really be looking out for him. Spot was waiting for Boots to give the word—that Aunt Elane yelled at him, hit him, denied him food—then Boots was out of there and Spot would move him into his dorm, rules be damned. But Boots never did. He loved Aunt Elane.

Even though she sucked, hard.

“Just let me hang out ten minutes,” Spot said, not begging. “We don’t have to go anywhere.”

“I’m sorry Spot,” Aunt Elane said, “We have a train to catch. Isaiah can text you on Monday and you can come over then.”

Two years ago Spot would have just grabbed Boots and run, but that wasn’t what Boots wanted and he was matured now. Grown. So he gave another high five to Boots and watched at they went, glaring at Aunt Elane over her shoulder.

When he was sure they were gone, he broke into the apartment and unplugged the refrigerator. It was juvenile stuff, tame compared to what he would have done before.

As he locked the apartment back up, he congratulated himself on being so fucking mature.

He texted Jack’s roommate

_What are you doing the rest of the day?_

A text back came at five that night, when Spot was at work in the mailroom. There was nothing happening in the university mailroom the day after all the students left and since Spot didn’t have a supervisor worth a shit, he spent the whole time writing some sophomore’s paper on Benedict Arnold. He didn’t write the papers himself often these days, but it was easier now that he knew what was expected from an actual college paper. He rolled out a six-page paper with eight citations in a matter of hours. During the entire tim,e there were six packages to sort.

He submitted the paper and enjoyed watching $200 materialize in his bank account.

David’s text was an almost welcome surprise

_Just got off work. Was going to the store to pick up some fixings for pasta. Want to come?_

Spot glanced at the clock. He was done with work too, and done with his paper. He packed up and left without saying a word to his supervisor. He texted David back and ended up meeting him at a bodega around the corner from the Lodging House. David smiled at him from down the beer aisle as he walked in.

He didn’t know exactly what David’s deal was. Spot wasn’t exactly fun to be around. He was never able to stand being alone for long, most of the friends he made were completely out of necessity rather than any actual desire to connect to other people. But he’d seen David alone more than anything else around campus, only sheepishly joining Jack at parties because the parties were usually in his own room.

“Hey,” David said, “I’m making pasta bake.” He showed Spot his grocery basket with a box of twirly pasta and cheese and sauce. “This is going to come out to about six dollars, if you have three you wanted to kick in.”

“You hitting me up for money?” Spot asked.

“Yes,” David said, “I’m going to do all the cooking, so I could rightly ask for more than half.”

“I don’t carry cash,” Spot said, “I’ll buy the beer.”

David frantically looked around the bodega and leaned forward and whispered, “We’re underage. How are you going to buy beer? Are you serious?”

Spot scoffed and picked up a case of Sam Adams. Shitty brew, but he couldn’t give away that he wasn’t fully broke to someone he barely knew. He walked away from David and hauled the case onto the county, easily paying with his debit card and his fake.

David hovered behind him through the whole thing, then nervously paid for his pasta like _he_ was the one committing a crime.

“Relax,” he told David.

“Oh, I am,” David said, “If you get arrested I don’t have enough money to bail you out, then I can listen to Taylor Swift as loud as I want without worrying about you busting a move.”

Spot stopped short.

Who was this guy?

 

* * *

 

 

David had more kitchenware than anyone else on the floor. His parents didn’t understand that he would be eating out of a dining hall, and wanted him to be prepared to feed himself. He had a pot, a strainer, a baking dish and more than would be necessary for a dish of pasta bake. He was annoyed at first that he had all this kitchenware taking up a huge bin at the end of his bed, but now that the dining hall was closed and he did have to feed himself after all, it was all for the best.

There was a communal kitchen at the end of the hall with a decent oven and a sink. There was about two square feet of counter space that David cleaned before spreading his ingredients out on. Behind him, Spot spread out at the table with his laptop.

“What are you making exactly?”

David dumped the box of pasta into the pot of boiling water, “My mom calls it pasta bake,” he said, “It’s just boiled pasta mixed with sauce and cheese.” He held up the brick of mozzarella cheese from the bodega. “It feeds a family of five for two nights.”

“So you plan on making this last five nights?” Spot asked derisively.

David thought of the $30.23 in his bank account. “If I can,” he said, a little defensive.

Spot got up and disappeared with no explanation. David didn’t try to stop him, he just stirred his pot. He was surprised when Spot came back and smacked a container of ricotta cheese on the counter next to the brick of mozzarella.

“Make it six nights,” he said.

David had never had the pasta bake with anything but the cheapest white cheese in the store. Ricotta was a theory at best, something he knew should have been in many of the dishes he and his mother made, but never bought because it was too expensive.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked.

“Racetrack,” Spot said, “He told me to use it, so.”

“Thank you,” David said. He was a little excited to find out how the pasta bake would turn out with real cheese, but he didn’t want to let Spot know that. Spot sat back down behind his laptop. “So,” David said making conversation, “Is Racetrack his real name?”

“What do you think?” Spot asked, sounding bored.

“I don’t know, I’m not his roommate,” David said.

“Is ‘Jack’ Jack’s real name?” Spot asked.

David knew that Spot was trying to illustrate that it was a stupid question, but the truth was Jack _wasn’t_ his real name and David knew better than to tell that to anyone. If Racetrack wasn’t his real name, he might have the same reasons for keeping it a secret. At least from casual acquaintances like David.

“Right,” David said, “Sorry.”

“Next you’re going to ask me something insane like of ‘Spot’ is my real name,” Spot mumbled.

David took the pasta off the boiler and strained it over the sink. He shook the water off the pasta and waited.

Well, what did he have to lose?

“ _Is_ Spot your real name?” David asked.

His back to was to Spot so he didn’t see how he reacted, just heard him say immediately and loudly, “ _Yep.”_

David turned around. Spot was downing a beer. “Seriously?” he asked.

“Yep,” Spot repeated, “My parents were obviously classy bastards.”

Obviously. David couldn’t imagine going through kindergarten—going through _high school_ —named Spot. How did he even apply for jobs?

“You didn’t ever,” David asked, then paused. How rude was this going to be? He plunged ahead. He was feeding Spot after all. “Think about like, changing it or something?”

“To what, _David?_ “ Spot said mockingly, “Are you saying you don’t like my name?”

“No,” David said, “It just doesn’t seem like an easy name.”

“Nothing is easy,” Spot said, “Is it easy to be named after King David?”

“Yeah?” David said, “How do you know I’m not named after a relative?”

“Isn’t that against the rules for you guys?” Spot asked.

“For us Jews?” David asked, “Not for all of us. I’m named after my grandfather. But he’s dead.”

“Sorry,” Spot said shortly, not elaborating whether he was apologizing for the assumption, or for his grandfather being dead. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he eventually said.

Spot Conlon apologizing? “It’s fine,” David said.

They were quiet for a little while. David laid the cheese over the pasta and sauce.

“So…you celebrate Hanukkah?” Spot asked.

“Yeah,” David said.

“When is it this year?”

“The first night is December 24th.”

“That’s Christmas Eve?” Spot said, sounding unsure. Why did he sound unsure of that? Any American knew that December 24th was Christmas Eve, even if they didn’t celebrate it.

“Yeah?” David said.

“I know,” Spot snapped.

“Okay,” David said, “Do you celebrate Hanukkah?”

“Nah,” Spot said, “I don’t celebrate anything that happened over two thousand years ago.”

“Oh yeah? No valentines day for you either?”

“Nope,” Spot said, “I have no interest in anything no one living remembers. The further back, the more irrelevant.”

David stuck the pan in the oven and sat down at the table. Spot didn’t take his eyes off his laptop. “Aren’t you a history major though?”

That got his attention. Spot looked at him, amused, “What makes you think that?”

Shoot. Backtrack. There is no reason for Spot to know that he knew his schedule. “Skittery said you were in the same Greco-Roman History class.”

“Yeah, my required history class,” Spot said like David was an idiot. “I have a useful major.”

“Which is?”

“Economics,” Spot said, “Supply demand, all that shit. It should be yours too if you want to get anywhere in life.”

David took an economics class during his senior year of high school. He ditched more than half the classes. It was easy enough to understand, he was able to ace his final despite his bad attendance, but it didn’t hold his interest.

“No thanks,” David said, “I don’t know what I’m majoring in, but I know it’s not that.”

Spot furrowed his brows. “Are you kidding? You’re undeclared?”

“Yeah,” David said shortly.

“I just had you pegged for someone who had his whole life figured out, right down to what zip code you want your wife to shoot out your first kid in.”

“Well I don’t,” David said, “I don’t really know what I’m doing. Denton said I could give it a year before declaring, so I am.”

He thought he wanted to go into journalism, but he couldn’t provide for his family on a desperate career as a freelancer, and that was the best he thought he could expect. Denton encouraged him to take English classes, but he was no writer and it showed in the failing grades he got during his first month of Composition I. The longer he was in college, the less it seemed like he was able to do.

“Don’t worry,” Spot said unexpectedly, “I can tell. Your inner ten year plan will come out sooner or later. It’s in your nature.”

“What do you know about my nature?” David asked.

“Probably more than you think,” Spot said before turning his focus back to his laptop.

The pasta bake was ten times better with ricotta, not that he let Spot know that.

Spot split after dinner, and David stuck the baking dish in Jack’s mini fridge and called his mother. He was in the middle of the most exciting city on the continent but he couldn’t bring himself to go outside. It wasn’t the weather, it was that he didn’t know where to go.

Jack Facetimed him around 9. He was in a train car with a girl sticking her face in the frame.

“Davey!” he yelled, and David winced in sympathy for the train car full of people who surely did not want to overhear their conversation. “How the hell are ya?”

“I’m fine,” David said. He was not yelling. His voice was at a normal volume even though he was alone in his room and no one was on the floor to hear him.

“Just fine?” Jack yelled, “Finals are over, you should be celebrating!”

His Latin American history paper came to mind again, and he furiously stomped it down. “I guess?” he said.

“You guess!”

“It’s weird here,” David confessed, “The only other person here is Spot Conlon. We’ve been hanging out a little, but he’s not exactly friendly.”

“You’re kidding, you’re hanging out with Spot Conlon?” Jack said, his voice now a normal volume. The girl in the frame turned to look at Jack and asked quietly “Who’s Spot Conlon?” and Jack said to her, “A douchebag at our school.”

“He’s not a douchebag,” David found himself saying, “He’s just aloof.”

“Aloof my ass,” Jack said, “Listen, Spot brings good booze but he ain’t your friend, yeah?”

“I know,” David said. Believe it or not, he had no delusions that Spot was hanging out with him out of anything more than convenience.

“Hang out with Mush,” Jack said, “He’s good people, and he’s in Queens.”

“Where are you?” David asked, changing the subject away from his social life. It was typical that Jack was trying to take control of his social life, even from however many thousands of miles away. He appreciated that Jack was his entre to the social work of Pulizter University at first. Jack had a natural ability to meet people and make fast friends, and as his roommate and chosen friend, David got some level of connection from that. But Jack’s friends never felt like his friends, and he felt stunted sitting alone in his dorm, desperately hoping that Spot would come back soon. Spot who wasn’t even his friend. If Jack was here, he would have six new people sitting in his dorm room who could distract him from the fact that he was away from his family, and the feelings that he was a fraud.

Fuck. He wished Jack was here.

Jack looked out the train window and laughed. “Fuck me if I know. On a train headed to Santa Fe, that’s all I care about.”

David nodded, “You taking the train back later?”

Jack laughed again, “You miss me already Davey? Hinting that you want me back? I’ll be back by train come January, don’t you worry.”

“I don’t even miss you a little,” David say, “You snore. I don’t miss that.”

“You snore too sourpuss,” Jack said, “And I miss you.”

“Oh. I guess I miss you too.”

Jack turned toward the girl whose head was practically on his shoulder, “Aren’t we the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen? We’re just roommates, don’t you worry.”

“I’ll let you get back to…that?” David said.

“I’ll call you when I get to my friends place,” Jack said, “Bye now.”

“Bye,” David said, hitting the end button.

Then he was alone again.

 

* * *

 

 

Spot went on a walk.

A long walk.

He took his iPod and blasted whatever the fuck he wanted because no one else could hear it.

The snow had let up and the piles of snow in the street were already turning brown. Spot’s headphones covered his ears which kept the cold from biting at them, and he let the scarf Racetrack threw at his head once hang loosely around his neck. The streets were full as he walked south, becoming more clear as he reached the mouth of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He checked his watch. He had been walking for over an hour. There was nothing waiting for him in Brooklyn, not anymore, but he still walked to the center of the bridge before he decided to turn back.

There was nothing waiting for him in Manhattan either, but at least there was a room he had claim of to with working heat.

He got a cup of coffee and worked on a paper in a diner, laying heaving on the adjectives because the person’s paper request had way too many of them. By the time he finished and was back in the Lodging House at 10, knocking on David’s door like an idiot.

David looked surprised when he answered the door, even though there was no one it could be except Spot.

“Let’s watch another movie,” he said, “Still not Netflix and Chill.”

“No,” David agreed readily, opening the door further to let Spot in. Spot took off his boots because they were covered in muddy snow, and carried them into the room.

Jack’s room was the same size as his and Racetrack’s, but it felt smaller because they didn’t bunk their beds, and Jack’s side of the room was full of junk. Broken down computers he might be trying to fix, a bookcase full of short paperback books.

David’s side of the room was meticulously neat. Even his bed was made, like he was expecting his mother to show up any minute. He had a desk lamp that was lighting up the room with one dim light bulb. Spot turned on the overhead light. David reached on top of Jack’s desk for the now nearly empty bottle of whisky.

“I don’t think Jack would mind if we finished this off?” he said.

Spot grabbed the bottle and took a drink. He handed it to David and watched as he took a drink. “What do you want to watch?”

“Anything,”

So they watched Top Gun for the second time in a row.

 

* * *

 

 

Near the end of the movie, Spot disappeared downstairs and reappeared with a pizza. David tried not to be insulted.

“There’s still some pasta bake,” he said. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the pizza box in Spot’s hands. It smelled amazing.

“That’s for the next five dinners,” Spot joked, “This is a midnight snack.” Spot put the pizza down on David’s desk and opened the box. He took a slice and ate it standing there in three giant bites, then took another slice and sat back down on Jack’s bed. “That ain’t just for me, take a slice.”

David sheepishly took a piece. “I can pay you back.”

“I ate half your ‘pasta bake’” Spot said, “This is me paying you back.”

“You sure?” David asked.

“Yeah,” Spot said, “We’re square. I don’t do anyone any favors.”

David figured it was fair for him to have two slices. There was silence between them, and the beers and whisky had loosened David’s restraint. So he asked Spot, “Are you going home for Christmas?”

Spot snorted, “Where’s that?”

“Brooklyn?” David suggested.

Spot flopped back on Jack’s unmade bed. He brought his socked feet up on the bed, and David realized he hadn’t done that the entire night, or the night before.

“Brooklyn’s home, but I ain’t got nowhere to stay there,” Spot said, bravado intact in his voice. “You think I’d be here if I had somewhere better to be?”

It struck David that his question may had been intrusive. Spot refused to share anything about himself during the week the Roosevelters spent together before the term started. He told obvious lies during ice breakers. There were parts of the week where they were expected to share their stories and get really vulnerable. It was how he knew that Mush come up in homeless shelters, and how Blink lost his eye. True secrets that they never spoke of after the week ended. But Spot didn’t say boo, he told a bullshit story about fairies and elves during his “share.”

Everyone laughed. David was just annoyed he wasn’t taking it as seriously as everyone else.

“I have somewhere better to be,” David said.

“Do you?” Spot asked, “Then why aren’t you there?”

“I would be if it didn’t cost over a hundred bucks anywhere near Chicago,” David said, “My family wants me home. They tell me that every day, but I can’t get there.”

Spot rolled to sit up, bringing his feet back to the floor. “That’s right,” he said, “that’s your sad backstory right? Functional poverty, Mommy and Daddy don’t have enough to go around?”

David put the remains of his pizza slice back in the box. “My parents worked to the bone to provide for us. The system is rigged, they couldn’t get ahead.”

“That’s what junkies say,” Spot said, his face mean for the first time, “It’s just an excuse.”

Part of him knew that Spot was trying to get a rise out of him for some stupid reason, but he took the bait. “Have you read any social theory? Poverty begets poverty. There’s no way to pull yourself up by your bootstraps. It’s all sheer dumb luck.”

Spot rolled his eyes. “Yeah? You believe that? Then why are you here? What’s the point of this fancy college education if you’re just going to be a stooping food stamp loving sap like your folks?”

David stood up. Spot hadn’t been outright insulting until now, but his parents was crossing a line. “Get out,” he said. “Get out of my room.”

Spot sprung to his feet, “Like I was having so much fun here.”

“Get out,” David repeated.

He glared at David, and leaned forward and grabbed the pizza box from his desk. “Gladly.” He turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Leaving David alone.

 

 

 

 


	3. Breaking Bread

“David I don’t understand how this works, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Mama I can hear you,”

It was Wednesday the 21st and David had spent the week doing nothing but work and read and sleep. He would have been drinking if he hadn’t gone through all of Jack’s stash, but he had.

His subway card was still loaded even though the semester was over, so he wasted time riding around to different library branches, picking up books that he could barely focus enough to read.

His Latin American history essay kept coming to mind, no matter what he did. His professor hadn’t contacted him about it, and within two days his grades would be in the system. If there was a problem he would know about it by now. But still, he felt guilty. Like a fraud.

He also couldn’t stop thinking about Spot Conlon. He didn’t see him again after dinner on Saturday, but he heard the shower running (multiple times a day, in long intervals) and heard him slamming doors down the hall. It was worse than being alone, knowing that someone else was there that he couldn’t talk to.

Because Spot Conlon was an asshole. A pure asshole. He thought they were connecting before, when they were making dinner and talking about majors. But then Spot pulled the rug out from under him. Jack was right. He was a douchebage not to be trusted.

It was good to finally talk to his family. His parents were had to get on the phone, they were busy and distracted when they did have time. But now Sarah had figured out their neighbors WiFi password, so his parents were facetiming him. When he saw his mother’s face on the screen he nearly cried, but he held it together.

Mama turned the phone around in her hands until she was oriented upright on the screen and could see David. He figured out that she finally saw him when she gasped, then she cried.

“Oh don’t mind me, don’t mind me,” she said, wiping her eyes. David blinked rapidly to force his own tears back. “I’m just so happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you too Mama,” he said.

Dad was in the background, hovering behind Mama. “David!” he said, “You look good! Strong!”

David didn’t think he looked particularly strong. He was sitting in his dorm room in a thick sweater that he bought for a dollar at a thrift store and his nose was red from a cold that he knew was going to knock him down soon. But he smiled and thanked his dad.

Les eventually grabbed Sarah’s phone and talked David’s ear off about his science project. David listened intently, even though he really wanted to talk to his parents again.

“I think I’m winning the blue ribbon this year,” Les said confidently, “Sixth grade is really my year.”

“Sounds that way,” David agreed, “You have a good project, and you have the confidence to pull it off.”

“Yeah, I do,” Les agreed. David couldn’t help laughing. Les always had this great bravado that would serve him well in this life. “What are you laughing at?” Les demanded.

“Nothing,” David said. He was glad to know that by the time Les was old enough to work, David would be out of school and be providing for his family and Les would be able to stay in school more than he did. Maybe Les would apply for the Roosevelt Scholarship and be able to come here. Maybe he’d be better prepared than David was.  
“Can I talk to Mama again please, Les?” he asked. Les acquiesced and handed the phone to Mom. “Hi Mama,” David said.

Mama looked around. David didn’t see his father in the background, and he heard the TV which meant he was across the room watching his shows. “Looks like we lost the rest of them,” she said.

“That’s okay,” David said, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“David, are you alright?” Mama asked.

He was alright. He was getting paid on Friday, and he’d made the pasta bake last until yesterday. He felt solid enough to go to the store and buy bread and butter, so he was lasting on that until direct deposit hit his account. He was fine. He had a place to live, he didn’t have to worry about paying for heat. He was fine.

“I’m fine, Mama,” he said, “I just miss you.”

“Oh David,” she said, “We miss you too. We are so proud of our boy out there in New York, making it on his own. We couldn’t be prouder of you.”

It meant a lot to hear that. David felt his face warm and he rubbed his head bashfully. “

"Thank you, Mom.”

“I mean it,” she said, “You are doing the very best and we all know it. Keep on, my darling.”

“Thank you,” he said again.

“We will call you again soon, yes?”

“Yes,” David agreed. “We’ll do this again soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

Spot didn’t need friends.

He didn’t have friends growing up.

He had Boots for a while, and now he had Race.

But he didn’t need someone to hold his hand and night and tell him that they loved him.

He got by fine without talking to David and hearing about his family and how much they loved him and how much they wanted to see him. He walked through the city with his headphones on. His hours at the mailroom had been cut, but demand at Quick Papers was sky high, and Spot found himself writing at least three papers a day to keep from overwhelming his employees. He needed to hire more people. It would be January’s task.

On Wednesday he got a call from Aunt Elane letting him know that he could come over and take “Isaiah” shopping for Christmas presents as planned.

“Finally,” Spot snapped, “We were planning on doing this on Saturday.”

“Thank you for being patient,” Aunt Elane said, calm as ever. “Can we plan on seeing you in an hour?”

Spot was already in the hallways of the Lodging House, tugging his jacket on. Down the hall he could hear music coming from David’s room, which he staunghly ignored.

“Yeah, I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“See you then,” Aunt Elane said, and hung up.

Seriously, fuck her.

The 1 train was delayed going uptown, and Spot grudgingly called Aunt Elane to let her know that he was going to be late. He wasn’t giving her an excuse to change the plan. She thanked him for being responsible and he stopped himself from cussing her out for making him treat seeing Boots like a hostage negotiation.

Aunt Elane had Boots up in a two bedroom apartment in Washington Heights. She had giant rubber mats laid down outside the door and yelled at Spot if he so much as stepped foot inside without leaving his shoes there.

The first time Spot tried taking his shoes in, and Aunt Elane planted all 100 pounds of herself in front of him, pointing into the hall wordlessly.

"Yeah fat chance I'm gonna let someone walk off with my shoes," Spot said.

Boots poked his head out from behind Aunt Elane. "No one's taken 'em before. Buncha weirdos here who know better than to mess with Aunt Elane."

Spot gripped his laces. Aunt Elane stared him down, like she was trying to measure if Boots mattered enough to Spot for him to risk leaving without shoes just to see him. Without turning away from her stare, Spot reached back into the hallways and dropped his boots on the mats.

This time he was in no mood to take off his boots, so he knocked and stayed in the hallway when Boots threw the door open. Boots was thrilled to see him, so there. When Spot got to the apartment he was already waiting by the door with his coat and scarf on. “We ready to go?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Spot said, looking at Aunt Elane for confirmation that if he took Boots with him now he wouldn’t be charged with kidnapping, “We’re ready.”

Aunt Elane elbowed her way to the door, stopping just a foot from Spot. He stopped himself from stepping back. "Hello Spot," she said, "How are you?"

"I'm fantastic," Spot said.

"You're done with school?"

"Yes."

"Isaiah tells me you're staying in the dorms?"

"Yes."

"Good. And you're eating?"

The fuck did she care? Spot unwittingly thought of the burger he'd eaten yesterday, the last thing he'd had since he finished off all of Racetracks food. Sometimes he forgot how easy it was to get food now, so he just didn't. Not that Aunt Elane knew that.

"We're getting dinner," Spot said, changing the subject but only just. "That okay with you?"

“Be back by seven,” Aunt Elane said, giving them four hours, which was more than Spot was expecting. He didn’t show his surprise, he just got Boots out of there as fast as he could.

Aunt Elane had given Boots her subway card, but Spot still bought him a pass from the machines. He didn’t want anything from Aunt Elane on this trip. Boots watched him stick money in the machine, and Spot was reminded of all the times Boots had leaned against the wall and watched Spot handle everything from subway tokens to angry parking lot managers.

It was his job to handle things.

They went downtown to the Nintendo store because Boots had just gotten a Nintendo Switch from Elane’s son for an early Christmas present and he needed games.

“Aunt Elane is going to get me a game,” Boots said.

“That’s nice,” Spot said, “I’m going to get you two games.”

Boots grinned and picked out two games, paying no attention to the price sticker. He never explained to Boots the game he was running with phony papers, but Boots seemed to understand that Spot had plenty of money, and had no hesitation in spending it.

Spot bought the games but didn’t hand Boots the bag, “This is for Christmas, dummy,” he said, “You don’t get it until then.”

“But I might not see you for a while,” Boots said carefully, “You should give them to me now.”

“Well we better make it so I see you sooner, yeah?” Spot said.

They went to some cheap souvenir stores where Boots used his own money to buy presents for Aunt Elane and his cousins. Spot tried to pay but Boots stopped him. When he thought Spot wasn’t looking he took a model of the Brooklyn Bridge and hid it in a shopping bag, then coolly walked out without paying.

Old habits.

Spot steered them to a favorite burrito place, away from the tourists and business people who swarmed this area of Manhattan. He watched Boots devour a plate of rice and beans.

“I could give them to you on Christmas, you know,” Spot said.

Boots paused his eating long enough to look at Spot, “What’dya mean?”

“You could come to the Lodging House on Christmas,” Spot said, “We could do it like our old Christmases, but better.”

Boots looked doubtful. “I think Aunt Elane wants me to stay with her for Christmas.”

Aunt Elane Aunt Elane Aunt Elane. What was so special about her? Spot leaned forward, “She don’t lock you in does she?”

“No!” Boots said, sounding offended by the idea, “She don’t do nothing like that.”

“Then leave,” Spot said, annoyance coming into his voice, “You got a subway pass, don’t you? You can just walk out. Better yet, I’ll pick you up and we’ll come back and have a good Christmas. We can get Chinese food like we always talked about.”

Boots shrugged. “I don’t like Chinese food so much.”

Since when? “Then we won’t get Chinese food,” Spot said, exasperated. “C’mon, this is the first Christmas I have any money and I’m not in some crap group home. I don’t want to spend it alone in a dorm room.”

“Come to Aunt Elane’s,” Boots said, “If I told her it was important to me, she’d let you.”

Yeah right. Even if Aunt Elane didn’t hate him, the last thing he wanted was to have her looking over his shoulder. "Come on," Spot said, "I got the whole place to myself, we can slide down the hallways, or break into the rich kid's room and mess with their stuff."

Boots stopped eating. "You're alone?"

David.

Fuck David.

"No," Spot admitted, "There's one other kid, but I managed to piss him off somehow so I'm basically alone."

Boots sat up in his seat, all his attention on Spot. "You just gotta apologize. I learned it from my social worker. People love it! All you gotta do is say you're sorry even if you don't mean it."

"I'm not sorry," Spot said. Why were they talking about this? "Even if I was, it don't matter because we ain't friends."

"But you could be," Boots said, sounding desperate, "Then you don't gotta be alone on Christmas."

Boots felt bad, Spot realized. He had this whole family that loved him now, and Spot was alone.

Like with David.

“Forget it,” Spot said, “Eat your beans.”

“You sure?” Boots asked.

“For sure,” Spot said.

 

* * *

 

 

To: djacobs@pulitzer.edu, sconlon@pulitzer.edu  
From: bdenton@pulitzer.edu  
Subject: Holiday Dinner / 12/21/16 8:14 PM

Hello

Hope the holiday season is treating you well. I know it can be a bit lonely in the dorms over winter break, so I wanted to invite you to join a Roosevelter tradition. Those who have stayed behind and I have a holiday dinner. I know it is short notice, but tomorrow (Thursday the 22nd) would be the optimal night. Please reply to RSVP (Indicate whether or not you can come). I would enjoy hosting both of you.  
Looking forward to it.  
Denton

David sat in his dorm room staring at his email.

There were a few things to be annoyed about.

For one, Denton was giving him less than a days notice. It was presumptuous. What if David had plans?

He didn’t.

But what if he did?

Second, Denton instructing him on what RSVP meant. Denton liked to educate them on basic adult tasks like writing thank you notes, or making eye contact during job interviews. It was like he assumed they were all raised in a box.

Third, Spot was on the email too.

David RSVP’d right away. He was going. Of course he was. Denton had done him a huge favor by admitting him to the Roosevelt program. Not to mention helping him get his stipend a week ahead of time in October when his mother’s car broke down.  
And he was sure that Spot would say no, he was rude like that.

He jumped at a knock at his door. There was only one person who could be knocking on his door, and he didn’t want to interact with them. He answered the door anyway.

He was polite.

Spot was standing in the hallway, wearing his green jacket. His face was red from the cold and his hair had snow in it. He held his phone up to David.

“Did you get Denty’s email?”

“What do you want?” David asked. He was one step behind, he should have opened.

Spot raised his eyebrows. “To know if you got Denty’s email.”

David sighed. “Yes, I got the email.”

“Okay, so you going?”

Why was this happening? “Yes I’m going, I have some sense of manners so I’m going.”

Spot nodded minutely. “Okay, me too. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

“Yeah,” David said, “That’s going to be a problem for me.”

Spot actually looked contrite. “Cause of what I said about your parents?”

“Yeah,” David said plainly. “And I don’t want your phony apology.”

“Look,” Spot said, “I ain’t saying no to Denty. He’s got me through some jams and I’m not stupid enough to turn down a free dinner. I shouldn’t have said that crap about your parents. It was shitty.”

This was unexpected. David was prepared to spend the entire winter break giving Spot the cold shoulder then go back to ignoring each other when the semester started.

“It was ‘shitty,’” David agreed. He waited.

Spot sighed. “Look, I don’t know shit about you. Okay? But I get it. You have this great family that loves you and wants you home. That’s awesome. Congratulations. I don’t have anyone who wants me anywhere. Hell, I got people who want me go as far from them as possible. Including you. So I get a little testy sometimes. Sue me.”

It was more honesty than David had seen from Spot the entire time he’d known him.

“That’s no excuse,” David said.

“Jesus, what’s it like to care this much about someone? I’m sorry.”

He was still mad about the crap—the absolute garbage—Spot had said about his parents. He didn’t want to be friends with him. But he could be civil. He thought of what his father said when David ranted about the assholes who gave Sarah a hard time: “Forgiveness makes you the bigger man.”

David was the bigger man.

“Whatever,” he said, “We can both go to Denty—Denton’s dinner and be civil. We don’t have to be best friends.”

“Oh no,” Spot said, “god forbid.”

 

* * *

 

 

  
Denton lived in Hells Kitchen, in a building with a doorman.

Spot was surprised that shepherding around 40 sad scholarship saps paid well enough for him to even live in Manhattan. Nothing in this neighborhood could cost less than two thousand a month. Denty must have mad money.

He was coming from a record store uptown. He didn’t have a record player. But it was something to do.

The doorman stopped him from walking in, and Spot was sure it was because he looked poor as hell. No $200 coat could hide that.

“Bryan Denton is expecting me,” Spot said. He pretended not to notice the doorman calling up to verify that he wasn’t the worlds worst intruder.

Denton was apologetic when he got upstairs. “I told him I was expecting guests, that shouldn’t have happened,”

“Whatever,” Spot said, looking around. The apartment itself had high ceilings and was full of unframed art leaning against the wall. He had a little office area at one end of the large living room, and a dining table at the other end that was covered in takeout boxes. David was sitting at the table. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” David said.

Denton looked between them. “Have you two seen much of each other since the break started?”

“Some,” David said casually, “We’ve been busy.”  
Like hell.

Spot sat himself down at the table. Denton had ordered a plethora of Chinese food. He reached for an egg roll. “Yeah,” he agreed, “We’ve been busy bees out there, working our work studies, studying our study works.”

“Surely you’re done studying,” Denton said, “Neither of you has incompletes.”

Denton somehow knew these things without him telling him. Spot was convinced he had half the university on the take reporting back to him about Roosevelters. He somehow found out about him and Racetrack hanging out in the physics wing after hours and getting picked up by security. He emailed both of them requesting a meeting twenty minutes before security released them.

“Oh Denty,” Spot said, “For a lifelong student such as us, the studying never stops. We gotta be in tip-top shape if we want to compete with the silver spoons around us.”

“Well,” Denton said, sitting down next to Spot. “I suppose I’m glad to hear that. What have you been doing with your time off?”

David told Denton a story walking through Central Park and seeing carolers, which sounded boring as hell. Spot heaped his plate with food, opting to use chopsticks even though he wasn't the most adept. No one had to know that. He could eat slowly.

"Central Park is beautiful in the winter," David gushed, "I love it. I wish I could spend all my time there."

"Can you?" Denton asked, "Now that the semester is over?"

David nodded, "Nearly. It's cold though. I don't want to expose myself to the elements too much."

Spot rolled his eyes. David caught him and glared.

"Spot," Denton said suddenly. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Oh," Spot said, "Just exposing myself to the elements."

"Have you been seeing Boots?"

Spot froze. David looked at Denton then looks at Spot. "Boots?" he repeated.

What business did Denton have asking him that? Spot wrote his Roosevelt Scholarship essay about Boots, that must be how Denton knew about him. They'd certainly never had a conversation long enough to Spot to even consider talking about Boots. Writing about Boots was a no-brainer. What was better scholarship bait than talking about the kid he looked after while he was on the streets? It explained his trash educational record, his juvie record, all while making him look like a hero. He would be an idiot not to write about Boots.

Still, that didn't mean he wanted Denton to know about him.

Spot stabbed his chopsticks on the plate. "Yep," he said.

"Boots?" David said again. Like a parrot this one.

"I'm sorry," Denton said, not sounding particularly sorry. "Have you two not talked about this?"

"No," Spot said, "Between all the braiding each other's hair and gabbing about Riverdale, we hadn't gotten to it."

"Who's Boots?" David asked. He correctly guessed that Boots was a person. Probably because the other guys in their program had names like Skittery, Kid Blink, Mush and all the rest. At this point of someone was named Brooomhandle none of them would blink.

"Just some kid I used to look after," Spot said, settling for a half-truth.

But David laughed.

_Laughed._

Loud and short, like it was so funny he couldn't even gather up an entire laugh.

"What?" Spot demanded.

"I can't picture you babysitting a child," David said.

"I wasn't babysitting," Spot snapped, "Boots was a kid I took care of when we were on the streets. You never seen a very special episode?"

David paused eating, "The streets?" he said.

"What?" Spot said, "Did you think I was a Rockafeller?"

"No," David admitted. "Sorry."

Denton cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to reveal something personal."

Yeah, he did.

"Whatever," Spot said.

"But have you?" Denton asked, "Seen Boots?"

Seriously, let up. He cleared his throat. "Yeah," Spot said, "I saw him yesterday. He's doing good."

"He's in the city?" David asked. He was unashamed of how nosy he was being, and Spot cut him a look. What the hell? Who thought they had the right to know all this stuff?

But Spot couldn't really help it. He liked talking about Boots. Most days the only thing he cared about was making sure he had his act together so Aunt Elane wouldn't cut him off from seeing Boots. And he got to see him yesterday. And he didn't get to tell anyone about it because Race was gone.

"Yeah," Spot finally said after a pause, "He lives with his aunt in Washington Heights. They sent him there after I got arrested."

Denton already knew he'd been arrested before, it wasn't a big deal. Denton didn't even stop eating while he was talking but David was staring at him openly. "Where did you go?" David asked.

"Juvie," Spot said, "then a group home."

David nodded like he understood things. Spot thought back on what David had said during the stupid "share" time during the week before the semester. He committed everything everyone said to memory. It was important information to have. David had never been to juvie, he sheepishly told the group that, following Jack's share. It made everyone laugh.

He had a family who loved him.

"That...sucks," David said.

"Yeah," Spot said, "It wasn't great."

Denton cleared his throat, "Well," he said, "Are we ready for dessert?"

 

* * *

 

 

  
They left at the same time. Denton offered them beers, which Spot accepted and David turned down, and they watched half an episode of some crime TV show David didn't catch the name of.

David couldn't stay seated on the couch that Spot had sprawled himself out on. He walked around Dentons cavernous apartment. He stopped at a painting of a set a teeth and gently picked it up.

"What's this?" he asked.

Denton looked over from the couch. "A student made that. All the paintings are from students."

There were a lot of paintings, all leaned against each other and without frames. Denton had maps with pins in them, showing where he had been. David had only ever been to Chicago and New York. Dentons apartments showed that he was a respected man, someone students looked up to, but also someone who had his own life. He was having them for dinner that night because he was leaving on a red eye in a few hours to see a friend in Egypt. In _Egypt._ It was incredible.

Halfway through the episode, Denton turned off the TV and Spot yelled in protest.

"I'm sorry to ask, but I'm afraid I have to get ready to go to the airport," Denton said. "I'll be back before the break is over, and we can do this again."

"Definitely," David said, "Yeah, that would be good."

He and Spot were silent on the elevator ride down and as they walked into the street. They started to head in opposite direction and Spot reached out and stopped him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"The Lodging House?" David said.

"You're going to walk?"

"It's not far."

"It's an hour walk. Take the subway."

David didn't want to admit that he didn't know which subway went back to the Lodging House, and his phone was out of data. He'd only been in the city for a couple months after all.

"Are you going back?" he asked to keep from admitting this failure.

"Yeah," Spot said, like it was obvious, "Just come with me."

 


	4. Winter New Yorkers

The Lodging House was warm. The hallway was lit up as though it was expecting all forty of its residents, not just Spot and David coming up the stairs with snow in their boots.

David stopped before going down the hall to his room. Spot did too. His room was at the other end of the hall, close to the kitchen and the common room with the boxy TV. During the school year Racetrack gathered crowds who watched him watch sports games, cheering as though his life depended on it.

“What?” Spot asked.

David hesitated. He didn’t like Spot. He didn’t. But he was tired of sitting in his room alone, stewing in guilt. He needed a distraction. And Spot might not be a nice person, but he demanded a lot of attention.

“Do you want to do something?” David asked, his voice weaker than he wanted it to be. “Watch a movie, or—“

“The floor was just waxed,” Spot interrupted him.

David looked down. The tile floor was shiny. Custodial services continued to show up even though the two of them didn’t make even a tenth of the mess that all 40 of the guys normally made. Someone must have come by and waxed the floor while David was out today.

He would never get used to someone cleaning up after him.

“Yeah?” David said.

“You ever slid across a newly waxed floor?” Spot asked, “It’s fun.”

That’s how they found themselves at the end of the hall in sock feet. Spot detoured to his bedroom and changed into pajama pants and a black t-shirt, and David changed into his debate sweatshirt.

Spot explained at length how to go as far as possible. “You gotta run, then slide. Run then slide.”

“Run then slide, I got it,” David said.

Spot braced himself against the wall then took down the hall running. At Kid Blink and Mush’s room he stopped running and slid with his arms out for balance. He went all the way and crashed into the heater at the end of the hall.

It looked dangerous.

“Come on,” he called to David, “Come on, it’s fun.”

“You do it again,” David called out, “Show me how it’s done.”

“Dude,” Spot said, “Come on.”

“I don’t have health insurance,” David admitted.

“Neither do I,” Spot said loudly, his voice echoing in the hall. “Come on. Take a risk for once in your life.”

“I take tons of risks,” David said, “Being here is a risk.”

“Fair enough,” Spot said, “Still no excuse. Come on.”

Fuck it.

David braced himself against the wall then took off running. When he saw the rainbow sticker on Kid Blink and Mush’s door he stopped running and slid. The floor was smooth under his feet and he held his arms out for balance as he rushed past the dorm doors towards Spot.

He lost his balance as he reached the end of the hall. He started to fall, but Spot reached out and caught him. David’s chest fell against Spot’s arm. Spots other hand came around his back, like some sort of accidental embrace, and soon as David has his balance he was upright again, pulling away from Spot.

“I’m fine,” he said, “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Spot asked, “No broken bones? Do we need to go to the emergency room?”

“Shut up,” David said. Then after a moment of consideration, “Let's go again.”

 

* * *

 

 

They slid around for a good hour, which was fucking exhausting. They ended up in the common room with a bottle of rum that Spot poured into plastic cups that came with a pizza Race ordered months ago.

“That was fun,” David said. David was a one drink drunk. It was hilarious.

Spot would never admit it, but he was relieved that David decided not to hate him anymore. He was pretty sure it had something to do with his _dark secret past_ as a homeless kid being revealed, but he didn’t care much as long as he didn’t have to spend another night drinking so he would pass out early.

It was probably also because he apologized so great. Boots would be proud.

“I’m glad you had a swell time,” Spot said. He turned on the TV and started moving through the channels. Pulitzer University was too cheap to pay for more than thirty channels and most of them were crap.

“We should get ice cream,” David said.

“It’s one in the morning,” Spot said, “And it’s twenty degrees out.”

David checked his phone and made a funny happy sound. “I just got paid. I can buy ice cream.”

He took out his phone and saw the direct deposit notification from his bank for his job at the mail room. Alongside it was a deposit for a paper that was nearly the same amount, and Spot didn’t even have to do anything for that one except email an employee.

“Me too,” Spot said, “That don’t mean I want to go outside.”

David, who had been lying on the couch up until this point sat up and made pointed eye contact with Spot. “Come on,” he said, “There’s got to be a bodega around here that’s open that’s got ice cream. Let’s go. It’ll be quick. Now that I’m talking about it, you want ice cream too I can tell. Think about it. Green mint chocolate chip. Creamy chocolate. You want it. I can tell.”

“You think you’re so clever,” Spot said. He stood up. David stood up too.

“That’s because I am.”

Half an hour later they were in David’s room with a pint each. Spot sat on Jack’s bed, keeping his feet on the floor, and David walked past him to the milk crate on top of Jack’s fridge and fished out two metal spoons. He handed one to spot.

“See?” David said, “Aren’t you glad I talked you into it?”

“You didn’t talk me into anything,” Spot said, “No one can make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

David waved him off. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Spot shrugged. David sat down on his bed and opened his pint of strawberry ice cream. “Listen, you know Jack’s my roommate right?”

Spot looked around at the posters for Santa Fe, the junk piled up in the corner of Jack’s side of the room. He’d been in this room for room parties Jack threw when David was present. But that’s not what David was really saying. He knew where David was going with this.

“Obviously,” Spot played along.

“Right,” David said, “And I don’t judge him for his—you know. For the way he got here.”

“For being a jailbird?” Spot corrected. “That mean you don’t judge me either? Gotta tell you David, that brings a little tear to my eye.”

“Shut up,” David said, “I would never call Jack a ‘jailbird,’”

“And me neither right?” Spot said, injecting mock emotion into his voice, “Cause you’re such a swell guy who don’t judge those of us who turned to a life of crime to survive?”

David rolled his eyes dramatically. “Forget it.”

“Is that why you’re being nice to me now?” Spot hadn’t planned on asking, but the drinks and Denton’s and in the common room had loosened him up. If David said it was, Spot would have to throw something at him and storm out of the room. Conlon’s didn’t take pity.

“No,” David said quickly, “You’re not the first person I’ve met who was homeless or in juvie. I’m not shocked into sympathy. It’s because you apologized.”

Boots was right. He should get a medal for being such a good kid.

“And,” David said, “I figure, you know. You were lashing out because of all that stuff I said about my family wanting me home. It’s okay. Like, I get jealous of other people sometimes too.”

“I wasn’t _jealous.”_

“Like the Delancey brothers?” David continued unaware of the confused ire that was trying to crawl up Spot’s throat, “Them always talking about their new tech, or the trips they’re going on for winter break? Last week I got so jealous I thought I was going to hit Morris right there at the sink.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” Spot repeated.

“Okay, then I’m wrong,” David said, “You still apologized.”

Spot kicked off his shoes and brought his feet up to sit crisscross on the bed. “Well, don’t mention it. You’re not the only swell guy on this floor. I’m pretty great too.”

“Oh,” David said, “I didn’t say _that.”_

Halfway through watching Shrek, Spot’s phone started buzzing. He was lying on Jack’s bed, not even looking at the movie screen, but the second he felt the vibration on his hip frantically sat up and pulled the phone out. There were only a few people who called him, and it was never for a casual conversation.

He relaxed the minute he saw Racetracks name on the phone face. Correction, Racetrack would call him to announce that he saw a cool looking bird, and was probably calling for a similarly stupid reason.

“What?” he demanded.

“Dear me,” Racetrack said loftily, “What is this rude greeting? How am I meant to continue a conversation when I am so deeply shaken by your rudeness?”

“What do you want?” Spot asked. David got up and went to the laptop that was connected to the TV by a cord. He hit the spacebar and paused the movie, stopping the screen on Shrek making an exaggerated face. David was watching him.

“Get off my Netflix,” Racetrack said in a normal tone, “I’m trying to impress a lady, but there are ‘too many screens in use.’ My pops is asleep and his wife is off sleeping with the mailman, so that leaves only you.”

“I’m busy,” Spot said, cutting a glance to David.

“Doing what? Who are you trying to impress? I can see that you’re watching Shrek. _I’m_ not impressed. You’re clearly not with someone. And I can hear in your beautiful voice that you are drunk, which means you would be just as happy staring at a white wall. I, on the other hand, am perfectly sober and trying to initiate some Netflix and Chill action, but you are stopping me.”

Fuck he was such a good friend.

“We have to stop the movie,” he told David, and David just shut down Netflix without a question.

Racetrack had many questions. “Who is that? Who are you talking to? Are you Netflix and Chilling? Just say the word my man and we can figure this out. We’ll flip a coin for it. Is it Joelle from upstairs? Are you—“

Spot hung up on Racetrack.

“Was that Racetrack?” David asked.

Even drunk at 3 AM David was smart as hell.

“Yeah,” Spot said, “He’s trying to seduce some poor girl with Netflix.”

“Geez,” David said, “Does that even work? Netflix and Chill and all that?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Spot said honestly, “Never had Netflix, and I hear tell that I’m not very chill.”

“Yeah,” David agreed, “I guess I haven’t tried either.”

Spot yawned and fell back against Jack’s bed. He couldn’t remember if he’d locked up his and Race’s room before coming down the hall, but he was confident he wouldn’t be robbed in the night. “I’m going to sleep here,” he told David.

“Oh,” David said, “Yeah, I’m going to go to sleep too.”

“See you in the morning?” Spot asked.

Please, he thought, Please don’t make me spend another boring day alone.

“Yeah,” David agreed, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

 

Life was strange.

At 11 the next morning he was in a diner with Spot Conlon, ordering a bagel and butter because it was the cheapest thing on the menu, and Spot yelled at him when he suggested that they have the bread and butter for breakfast.

Now Spot was yelling at him again.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded. Their waiter didn’t blink. “That’s the same shit you were trying to pull back at the dorm. I’m not having it. You have to eat real food. Order pancakes.”

“Pancakes aren’t real food,” David said, “They have no more nutritional value than—“

“I’ll have a stack of chocolate chip pancakes with two scrambled eggs, hash browns, and white toast,” Spot interrupted him. “He’ll have the same.”

The menu was already in their waiter's hands, and David fought the urge to grab it back and look up how much what Spot just ordered was going to cost. It was going to be more than the four dollars David had budgeted for this meal. And that was an extravagance.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” David demanded.

“What’s wrong with you?” Spot asked, “I know you just got paid. I know you get the same stipend as the rest of us. You shouldn’t be this broke.”

Jack had made the same comments early on, and David waved him off. Then Jack caught him on the phone with his parent's bank, wiring money from his account to theirs. Jack figured out that he was sending his entire stipend to help with a medical bill his dad had just got hit with. Because David told him.

Because he trusted Jack.

He wasn’t sure if he trusted Spot, but he felt the need to defend himself.

“I’m being responsible,” he said, “I don’t want to just throw my money away.”

“So you’re starving yourself?” Spot said.

“I’m not starving.”

“Tell me the truth, besides Denty’s dinner and the ice cream, what have you eaten besides bread and butter since your ‘pasta bake’ ran out.”

Nothing.

“That doesn’t matter.”

Spot leaned forward dramatically. “Do you have a drug habit?”

“No!”

“Then why don’t you have any money?”

“I send money to my parents sometimes!”

Spot leaned back. “That’s it? That’s wholesome.”

“I don’t want to leave them on the lurch,” David said, “My sister and my mom work, but my dad’s been out of work for years and he hasn’t been able to get on disability even though he has a load of medical bills that keep piling up. When I was in high school I was able to help more because I was there, but now I all I can do is send money.”

He’d have $200 more if he hadn’t lost control at the end of the semester. Guilt threatened to flood him as he thought of the moment he sat at his computer and took out his credit card, and he hurriedly beats it back by focusing on Spot sitting in front of him.

Spot looked like he was about to say something but stopped himself. “What?” David demanded. “What were you going to say?”

“I’m not saying crap about your parents,” Spot said, “I learned my lesson.”

“Well good,” David said, “My parents—“ He stopped himself from saying “My parents love me.” It was his go-to defense whenever anyone—teachers, Denton, Jack—questioned the amount of time and money David sent to them. They loved him. They worked to the bone to provide for him, and it was the least he could do to send the extra money he had their way.

But he realized now that it was cruel—even unintentionally so—to keep rubbing in Spot’s face that his parents loved him. Spot hadn’t said a word about his own parents except that they named him Spot, but if he had nowhere to go for Christmas then it had to be complicated at the very least.

“I know,” Spot finished for him, “Your parents love you. If they love you so much, they won’t mind you spending the $8.65 on a good lunch. You need to eat.”

“That’s how much what you ordered cost?” David asked. “That’s not so bad.”

“No, at Manhattan prices that’s a steal. Why do you think I picked this place?”

The food was amazing. The pancakes were rich and buttery and the eggs were perfectly scrambled and the toast was crunchy and the hash browns had diced onions that were—

Maybe David was hungrier than he realized.

“So,” David said through a mouthful of pancakes, “What were you planning on doing today?”

“You’re the planner,” Spot said, through a similar mouthful of eggs, “I was figuring you’d be in charge.”

David swallowed. “Yeah, I don’t know New York though. I’ve just been studying and working since I got here, I barely know anything outside our neighborhood except Central Park and the libraries. And I’ve seen enough of those.”

“When you say ‘New York’ you really mean ‘Manhattan,’” Spot said, “And I ain’t from Manhattan, I’m from Brooklyn. Unless you want to spend an hour on the subway just to see some bakery dumpsters, I ain’t your guy.”

David considered this, “You mean you haven’t spent time in Manhattan before now?”

“Not much,” Spot said, “It’s a trash island you know. Over bloated and overpriced. If I hadn’t gotten the scholarship I’d never live here. Hell, I’m not thrilled I live here now.”

David wasn’t sure he was in love with Manhattan but he couldn’t believe anyone took such a negative view on it. “There’s so much to do here,” he said, “People come from all over the world to see it. If you just looked around a little, you would love it too.”

“Yeah?” Spot said, “Prove it.”

Central Park was the best place David could think off to prove his point. He remembered his first trip here during the week before orientation. Jack led the way even though he’d spent as much time in the city as David had, he charged ahead pretending he’d live there all his life. They ended up walking five miles before frantically trying to find a bus or a train back to the East Village in time for Denton’s next meeting.

It was hot that day, and the park was choked with tourists and vendors. In the cold December winter it was thinner, less vendors, less people. Spot walked beside David with his headphones around his neck. It was snowing lightly, and David zipped his coat up all the way to ward against the snow. His coat was old and flannel lined. It belonged to his father before the accident made it too difficult to get his arm in the sleeves. It was warm enough.

“Look,” David said, “Look at the trees and the lights. Central Park is an 843-acre world-class park in the middle of one of the densest cities on the continent. This was built to be a place where New Yorkers—”

“Manhattanites,” Spot cut in.

David charged on, “—can come and relax and connect with nature the way were meant to. When you see it from above it’s almost shocking how large the park is, how much space it takes up. People don’t take advantage of having it here enough. Look,” David said stopping to point out a family of tourists taking a selfie in front of the frozen lake. “They came from far away just to see this.”

Spot nodded sagely, “David you convinced me, I see the value of this place now.” Then unexpectedly, he went up to the family and offered to take their picture. All smiles. David wasn’t sure he had seen Spot smile before now.

When they were walking away Spot showed David a wallet. “That was easy,” he said, “You’re right, this place is great.”

David nearly blew a gasket. He looked back at the family who showed no signs that they knew Spot had just stolen from their father. They were talking happily to one another. David physically ached looking at them knowing what they’d done.

“Give it back,” he hissed. “Go back there and give it back.”

“Relax,” Spot said, “I was always going to.” He jogged back towards the family, waving the wallet. David could just hear him make up some story about finding it in the snow, and was this theirs?

The father took the wallet from Spot. David watched, waiting for a sign that he hadn’t fallen for the obvious story, but the man put his arms around Spot in a warm hug. Even from a distance David could see Spot tense up, and he lifted his arms to push the man off. The family waved at David like, _he was involved,_ and Spot turned around and grinned at David. He shook the man’s hand one time before running back towards David, kicking snow as he went.

“That went well,” he said, elbowing David, “Not thrilled about the whole hugging thing, but they said any time I’m in Minnesota I should look up the Roland Gunnerson family and I can stay any time. Real sweet people.”

“That was terrible,” David said, fighting to keep the amusement out of his voice, “You stole from them.”

“I did not,” Spot said. He put his hand on his chest like he was offended, “How could you imply such a thing about me? I’m just enjoying the park like you said. Did you not say that this park was a place for New Yorkers come to relax? I’m a New Yorker. That relaxed me.”

The last thing David needed was to get arrested as an accessory to Spot’s nonsense. “Promise me you won’t do them again.”

Spot crossed himself, the way some Christians did. “I promise,” he said, “I will not steal anyone else’s wallet in your presence.”

David huffed. “Good. Because we’re going to MoMa next, and there’s a lot more tourists there.”

 

* * *

 

 

David was a total nerd at the museum. He carefully showed his student ID paid in coins and dollar bills at the admission desk. He took all the information pamphlets and stuffed them in his blue coat pockets.

“I read the best way to do this is to start at the top then work our way down,” he said, “So that’s what we’re going to do.”

He never understood modern art much. Just draw what you want to draw, say what you want to say, do it clearly and people will understand. He had no times for extended metaphors made of plastic and metal. He put on his headphones and played some industrial metal, just in case anyone could hear through his headphones. David looked back at him and gestured for him to take his headphones off.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said.

“Just taking in the art in my own way,” Spot said, “You do you’re reading, I’mma do my listening and we’ll stick together.”

“Okay,” David said sounding doubtful, “Just don’t lose me.”

They moved past a room with bubbling black gunk, and a room entirely full of lace stretched over frames with security guards protecting _lace._ Spot sneered at them as he passed—weren’t there more important things in this city happening than lace? David stopped at each framed lace thing and read the title card.

“You don’t have to read every letter in this building,” Spot said when they got to the second floor after over an hour and a half of reading. “It’s art. It’s political. It means something.”

David shuffled the pamphlets in his hands. He looked a little sheepish. “I’ve been wanting to come here all semester,” he admitted, “I just don’t want to do it wrong.”

He was under the impression that David—cultured smart, art-loving David—had been here before and this was just another thing that he was sharing with Spot. But it was new ground, for both of them.

Spot turned off his music. “Okay fine,” he said, “If you’re going to read everything, I’m reading it with you because I’m bored.”

“Oh,” David said thrilled, “It’s so much better when you know the history of the artist and the context of their work. You should definitely do that.”

They moved through the rest of the museum reading, shoulder to shoulder. Spot got bored with the pieces of art faster than David did, but he stayed next to him. When he was bored with the art, he just looked at the faces of wonder David made in front of them, and it was worth it.

 

* * *

 

 

It was dusk and they were on a street corner heading back to the Lodging House when it hit David. Grades would be up now. It was the 23rd and grades were due at noon and it was five in the evening.

Grades would be up.

“Fuck,” he said quietly, “fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

Spot noticed and poked him in the shoulder, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Grades are up,” he said. He checked the cross streets. “We’ll be home in twenty minutes then I can look at my grades.”

Spot poked him—again—in the gloved hand that was holding his phone. “Just check now.”

“I’m out of data,” David said loudly. “I can’t check it now.”

He was panicking now, somehow, he was breathing hard and brought his free hand to his chest to make sure all his bones stayed together. Spot was suddenly beside him with his hand on his back, saying “breathe, Jesus, remember you have lungs.”

He had lungs.

That was good.

“Here,” Spot said, shepherding them against a building wall away from the crosswalk. “Use my phone. Or don’t, if it’ll make it worse.”

It wouldn’t. David took Spot’s phone and started logging into the Pulitzer University intranet.

Worst case scenario he got a C in statistics and didn’t achieve the 3.5 GPA and would be put on probation with Denton.

No.

Worst case scenario his Latin American History professor failed him for plagiarism and he would be kicked out of the university.

He would go home and get a job and probably make more money than he was making now and he wouldn’t be able to get into any college in the world but that was okay he would continue his family legacy of—

His grades loaded on the screen. He refreshed it twice to make sure it wasn’t a mistake.

Composition I: A

Freshman Seminar: A

Spanish I: A

Statistics: B

Latin American History: B

Semester GPA: 3.75

Cumulative GPA: 3.75

He could barely breathe. All the stress. All the terror. All the all-nighters and the _cheating_ and he got a higher GPA than he even needed. He waited for relief, joy. Some feeling that indicated that he could celebrate what he had done but he felt angry. Everything he sacrificed and all he had to show for it was some letters on a page.

Spot crowded in and looked at the screen. He whistled. “Look at you! David Jacobs! I didn’t know I was hanging out with a damn genius.” He looped and arm around David’s shoulder and held him tight. David was too numb to shrug him off.

“Don’t you want to check your grades?” something inside David managed to ask Spot. Spot took his phone back and screenshot the grades then texted them to David.

“Nope,” he said, “I know they’re crap, I’m not worried. Let’s fucking celebrate your shit.”

He had to pull himself together. David put his own phone in his pocket and took a deep breath. He wasn’t caught cheating. He was in the clear. Denton made it clear, once grades were in the system they were final and they weren’t changing. His worst case scenarios weren’t happening. Hell, he got a higher GPA than he needed. He needed to calm down.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice was shaky. “Let’s go home.”

He kept control on the walk back to the lodging house, but when they got upstairs he split away from Spot and went into his room and shut the door. He pulled off his snow dusted coat and stuck it on the hook on the back of the door.

It felt so inevitable that he would fail Latin American History. That’s what cheaters did. They failed. He was going to fail. His desperate attempt to pass the class was going to backfire on him and he deserved to fail. That was the way the world worked. His father taught him that when he did something wrong, when he lied or cheat or stole, it would come back on him in a worse way.

He wasn’t supposed to get a B. He was supposed to fail.

Why wasn’t he relieved? He lay down on his bed and tugged off his boots. He hadn’t had a good lie-in in a while, and he decided to just lie in bed with the lights off until he felt less confused.

 

* * *

 

 

Something was wrong with David.

Spot wasn’t a social worker, or even a very nice person. He knew that. But he could tell when something was wrong. David didn’t say a word on the walk back to the Lodging House, and he practically ran away from Spot when they got upstairs. He figured he couldn’t talk it better, but in his experience giving people food was a good move.

He ordered burgers and fries for delivery, and when they came he walked down the hall to David’s room with the bag in hand. The light was off, he could see that from the gap under the door but he still knocked. If David was asleep he needed to wake up because sleeping when you were upset was bad.

He knocked hard three times, and then David finally answered the door.

He looked like he’d been crying.

Fuck.

Spot almost threw the burger bag at him and ran down the hall.

“What?” David said. He rubbed his eyes.

He didn’t have to address that David looked like he’d been sobbing in a pillow since Spot last saw him.

“I got burgers,” Spot said plainly.

“Oh,” David said, “How much do I owe you?”

“I’m giving you food,” Spot said. “Let’s go to the common room.” And out of the sad dark room you were just sobbing your face off in, Spot didn’t add.

They turned on all the lights in the common room and sat on the couches. Spot devoured his burger, while David just picked at his.

“I gave you food,” Spot said, to encourage him to start eating.

“I’ll pay you back,” David said quietly.

“That’s not what I mean,” Spot said, “I mean, you’re supposed to eat. Eating helps.”

“With what?” David asked.

Spot gestured to David in general, “Whatever this thing you’re doing is.”

“I’m not doing a thing.”

“You are doing a thing, you’ve been upset since you found out about your grades. Even though you’re fine.” Spot’s grades weren’t fine. He already had an email waiting for him from Denton in his inbox. But he wasn’t all sobby.

David sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “I’m going to tell you something. Only because I know you won’t care.”

“Sound logic,” Spot said.

“Just shut up okay?” David said. “Interjections mean you care, and I need you not to care.”

“Okay,” Spot said, “I don’t give a shit about anything you’re about to say.”

He didn’t. He really didn’t.

David nodded seriously. “Okay. So I had three final papers and two final projects. And it was just a lot. It happened all at once. And I got to a point where I realized that with work and with mock trial I couldn’t do all of it. It’s too much, right? How are we supposed to get perfect grades in all our classes, while dealing with everything else that’s happening?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Spot thought of the email in his inbox and the grades he had to deal with now. They couldn’t deal with all of it. It was a failing game.

“So,” David said, “I looked at what I had left, and I realized I couldn’t possibly write my Latin American History paper, even if I stayed up all night every night until finals ended. So I—“ he cut himself off and closed his eyes, “—I went to one of those phony paper websites and paid someone to write my paper for me. That’s why I can’t afford to go home, I spent all my money on cheating. And I cheated. I’m a bad person.”

He stopped talking and looked at Spot expectantly. Spot didn’t know exactly how he was supposed to react. He knew what he wanted to say, but David was an overly sensitive dude and with him being all upset already, Spot knew most of what he wanted to say would just upset him more.

“What paper service did you use?” he asked.

There. Nice. Neutral. Relevant.

David did not react well. He narrowed his eyes, “What? Why are you asking? Are you going to turn me in?”

“No!” Spot laughed, “Believe me, I am the last person who would turn you in.”

“Have you done this too?” David asked, sounding hopeful.

“No,” Spot said honestly, “I run a paper business. I’ve been doing it since I was in high school.”

David looked at him doubtfully. “You’re lying. You were homeless in high school.”

“That makes me all the more impressive, don’t it?” He looked Spot over, like hew as looking for a sign that he ran a phony paper business. He didn’t say anything, so Spot kept talking. “I get hundreds of requests a year. There are about thousands of phony paper services. We’re the best, but there are others. You aren’t the only person who bought a paper. The business wouldn’t exist if there wasn’t a demand to meet.”

“But I shouldn’t have done it,” David said, “It was wrong. I should turn myself in.”

“Seriously,” Spot said, “What service did you use?”

“Quick Papers,” David said, “Is that you?”

Spot laughed. “Yeah, that’s me. I didn’t write the paper, but that’s my service. So please don’t turn yourself in, yeah? We have a guarantee that none of our papers have been flagged as plagiarized, and it would kind of ruin my business.”

He’d never met a client. No one at the high school he ended up going to could afford his rates, and he thought neither could anyone he knew at Pulitzer. He tried not to think about how much his rates had cost David.

It was apparently on David’s mind though. “I could afford a bus ticket home if I hadn’t ordered a paper,” he said.

“Hey,” Spot said, “If I’da known it was you I would have given you the friends and family discount.”

“That’s not what I mean,” David said.

What was the problem? “You got a B in the class right? You didn’t get caught, and you didn’t have to kill yourself writing a paper you didn’t have time to. I don’t get what you’re all upset about.”

David sighed. “I just regret it. It was wrong. I don’t do things like that.”

“It don’t make you a bad person.” David shrugged and finally—finally—took a bite of his burger. “Seriously, everyone does stuff like this. It’s bullshit that they expect us to get near perfect grades our first semester of college. We’re all poor first generation schmucks who went to shit high schools. I don’t know how Denton can look us in the face and ask us to get 3.5’s.”

David shrugged, like he’d given up arguing with Spot but he took another bite of his burger, so Spot took it as a victory.

One thing was clear.

David was an unsatisfied customer. And Quick Papers guaranteed satisfaction.

Which meant, from a business standpoint alone, he owed David.

 

 

 


	5. Sing We Now

David was exhausted when he woke up.

He didn’t cry often. There usually wasn’t anything to cry about, and he had enough self-control not to fall apart every time an obstacle came his way. But when he did cry, he always woke up the next morning with a bone-deep exhaustion that started at his eyes and spread all the way down, making it difficult to even sit up.

He was on the couch in the common room, and the scratchy fabric felt intolerable on his cheek. He looked across the room and saw that Spot was already up and on his laptop, sitting on the couch across from him. He groped for his phone and saw that it was nearly out of batteries and saw that it was 9 AM on the 24th.

Tonight was the first night of Hanukkah.

He confessed about cheating to Spot.

And found out Spot owned the business that he used to cheat.

Life was strange.

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” Spot said, not taking his eyes off the laptop, “Nice to see you finally decided to get up.”

“Shut up,” David groaned, “It’s still early.”

“Not by your working-class standards,” Spot said. Which was true. In his family sleeping in this late was considered decedent, but he was in college now and 9 AM was damn early.

“Shut up,” David repeated. He sat up some with difficulty. His back cracked as he did.

“There’s a blizzard warning,” Spot said, still not looking away from the screen. It was unnerving. “Cuomo got on his horn and said seek shelter, do not leave your houses. We’re expecting 30 inches of snow.”

David rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “That’s can’t be right.”

Spot leaned over for the remote and turned on the television to the news channel. David watched dimly as the news reporters chipperly encouraged New Yorkers to stay inside and use their “emergency kits” to get through the storm.

“It’s going to be a white Christmas that’s for sure,” the female news reporter said, grinning with her white teeth and the fake tan, “Make sure you leave early to get to grandma’s house! Chad, do you think—”

David held his hand out for the remote and Spot tossed it to him. He shut off the TV. “Okay, so what,” he said, “It’s not like we were planning on going anywhere. Right?”

Spot said he didn’t celebrate things that happened over two thousand years ago, so surely he didn’t have plans.

But Spot hesitated before saying, “I was going to see if I could get to Boots.”

“That kid?” David asked. He sat up all the way now, putting his socked feet on the floor. His back screamed at him for daring to sleep on a couch all night.

“Yeah, _that kid,”_ Spot said. He sounded angry, but David was getting used to the fact that Spot sounded angry when he was expressing any kind of vulnerability. “I was texting with him this morning, Aunt Elane said I could come by to give him his presents if I can get there.”

“Is she your aunt too?” David asked.

Spot looked at him confused, “No.”

“Cause you called her ‘Aunt Elane,’” David explained.

“That’s her name,” Spot said, sounding like he thought David was an idiot.

Well. Whatever.

David yawned. He wanted to go back to sleep, but as long as Spot was up he could do something. Maybe he’d try to FaceTime his family again. Their neighbor seemed to be able to keep track of when they got on their WiFi because they changed their password regularly, but Sarah always figured out a way to get on when she had to.

“Are you going to go?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Spot said, “The subway is still running, and I don’t think Cuomo will personally come to the Lodging House to yell at us for going outside.”

“Us?” David asked.

“Yeah,” Spot said, finally breaking his eye contact with his laptop screen and looking at David, “If you want to come.”

Well, this was confusing. Two days ago Spot seemed furious that David even knew who Boots was, and now he was being invited along to meet him? On Christmas Eve?

Things had changed between them, David could feel it. The trip to the park and the museum was fun, almost easy. Especially when Spot wasn’t stealing from tourists. He had fun with Spot, which was something that two days ago he never thought that he would have said. And then during his pathetic break down, Spot was almost _nice._ He bought him dinner and listened while David blathered on about how he was a bad person. Told him he wasn’t a bad person. Listened.

It was weird.

“Are you sure?” David asked. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to go, he had a natural curiosity that extended to nearly everyone he met, and Spot presented a sense of mystery that David knew better than to poke at too hard. He couldn’t turn down an open invitation. Still, “It seems kind of personal for you.”

Spot waved him off, “I’m just giving a kid some video games that he already knows he’s getting. Aunt Elane will kick me out in about five minutes, then we’ll be uptown and can go to the Museum of the City of New York and you can geek out about that.”

What the fuck.

“Are you serious?” David asked.

Spot looked at him. “Don’t you want to do geeky stuff?”

“Yeah,” going to a museum sounded like a perfect distraction, “But you don’t.”

Spot closed his laptop and got up. “You don’t know what I want to do. I write academic papers for a living. I have culture falling out of my ass. Come on. Get dressed, wash your face. I’m taking a shower then we’re leaving.”

David knew better than to turn a good thing down. “Okay, I’ll get ready to go. And Spot?”

“What?”

“Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

 

Spot went back to his room and called Aunt Elane for the second time that morning. “I’m bringing a friend with me.”

“A friend?” she said doubtfully, “How do you know this friend?”

 _From the streets,_ Spot had to fight the urge to say, _We used to carjack people together, now he’s my dealer and we’re going to try to collectively convince your child to leave and return to a life of hunger and crime._

“From college,” he said, “He’s a really smart guy, he got almost all A’s this semester, and he’s into all this nerdy stuff like art and Central Park and stuff.”

Aunt Elane hummed, “This sounds like a very good friend for you to have. I’m glad to hear that you’ve befriended someone so positive. He can come. It sounds like he might be a good influence.”

Versus all the horrible influence Spot brought around? He grit his teeth, “Yep, David’s a real charmer.”

“Are you sure you will be able to make it up here?” Aunt Elane asked, “The snow is terrible, and I’m not sure that the A is running.”

“Then we’ll take the C, or we’ll walk,” Spot said, “You said I could come.”

“I’m not going back on that Spot,” she said, “I’m just concerned about the weather.”

“Don’t be,” Spot said. He looked out the window and saw a sheet of white snow falling fast to the ground. “I’ve been out in worse than this. I’m coming.”

Aunt Elane was silent for a moment, “Take your time,” she said, “We’re not going anywhere.”

Spot hung up.

He needed to get to Boots today. He promised he’d give him his presents. And he was pretty sure that Boots would put David in a better mood. He was just a good kid, he made everyone around him happier. If David was around someone better than Spot, maybe he’d feel better and not be so upset about his situation. It was a good plan, and the snow wasn’t stopping them.

Spot took a shower and forced himself to stop after twenty minutes, and within an hour they were on the street. They picked up bagels and coffee at a store on the way to the A train, and Spot watched as David paid with coins and a crumpled dollar bill.

He wanted to buy David’s coffee, but he couldn’t reveal to David that he was trying to pay him back for the paper. He figured he owed David $200 worth of favors, and letting him get around Boots and going to the museum was a good chunk of that.

The rest would have to wait until the storm let up.

When they got to the station and it was roped off Spot nearly threw his empty coffee cup down the subway stairs. Then, after some consideration, he did.

“Fuck,” he said, “Fuck this fucking bullshit shit.”

“It’s probably the weather,” David said, “It’s gotta affect the system somehow.”

“I don’t give a shit about the system,” Spot said, “Fuck systems. Fuck all the systems.”

David put his hand on Spot’s back. Spot shrugged him off. “Is there another train we can take?”

“Yeah,” Spot said, coughing to mask any kind of emotion and unwittingly came into his voice, “Yeah, we just have to walk further.”

The snow was biting, and Spot just wanted to find an alley to hide in until it passed, but the weather radar said it wouldn’t pass soon. It was piling up at their feet, and despite the holiday they were some of the only people no the street. David wouldn’t want to walk further just to see some kid.

“Then we’ll walk,” David said, “It’s no problem.”

“Seriously?” Spot asked. The wind gusted as he said it, covering his words.

“Yeah,” David said, “Let's go.”

The C was running, and he and David stood next to each other in the crowded train car. There was a family standing next to them, obviously tourists. He recognized their accents as Minnesotan; similar to the way Dutchy spoke. Spot resisted the urge to lift one of their wallets and just ruin their Christmas.

He didn’t do it.

“I’ve never been this far north,” David said as they passed the 135 St stop.

Spot didn’t reply. What if this was stupid? Boots was a great kid, but what if bringing David along made it so that Aunt Elane realized how crap Spot was by comparison and didn’t let him come around anymore? What if David blabbed about his paper business because he was so guilt-ridden he’d talk to anyone about anything?

No.

He was Spot Conlon.

He had a plan and it would go well and fuck anyone who thought otherwise, including himself.

When they finally to the stop near Aunt Elane’s apartment the snow had gotten thicker, and Spot could barely see two feet in front of himself. He reached back and grabbed hold of David’s elbow and yelled, “Follow me.” They walked the rest of the way to her apartment like that, with his hand attached to David’s arm.

He wasn’t nervous when they got inside, or in the stairwell, or after he knocked and waited for someone to come to the door. The bag with Boots' games was double wrapped, so the snow hadn’t gotten in but he checked anyway while they waited.

David didn’t look so miserable anymore. He was looking curiously up and down the hall, and he laughed a little when he saw the “SHOES OFF” sign on Aunt Elane’s door.

Aunt Elane was the one who answered the door, “Shoes off,” she said, instead of saying hello.

“We’re not coming in,” Spot said.

“Oh yes you are,” she said, “You’re not taking Isaiah out in this weather.”

Spot huffed but reached down and pulled off his shoes. David followed suit.

“Hello ma’am,” David said, “I’m David Jacobs. Thank you for having me over.”

Mr. Manners. Aunt Elane smiled as much as was possible with the frown that seemed permanently etched on her face, and she nodded to David. “Nice to meet you too, young man. I’m glad Spot has made a suitable friend.”

David laughed his short loud laugh.

Aunt Elane pretended not to notice. Once their boots were on the rubber mat she ushered them into the small apartment. Boots came out of his room and smiled when he saw them. He came up to Spot and gave him a high five as usual, then detoured to the couch and went back to his video game.

“Come play with me,” he said.

“Boots there’s a stranger here,” Spot said, jutting his thumb out and David, “You want to say hi.”

Boots looked over David and gave him a small smile, “Hi,” he said, “I’m Isaiah.”

Fuck.

Spot looked to Aunt Elane for permission, and she nodded so he sat down on the couch and David sat down next to him.

“Isaiah,” Aunt Elane said, “Turn off the computer games, we have company.” Boots listened to her right away, and Aunt Elane took a seat on the armchair across from the couch. “Your name is David?” she asked David.

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“You go to Pulitzer with Spot?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“What are you studying?”

“I’m undeclared.”

Aunt Elane nodded, “Well there’s time, isn’t there?”

“Yes ma’am.”

God, Aunt Elane probably loved David. Spot caught Boots' eyes and rolled his eyes. Boots stifled a laugh.

“Are you away for your family for Christmas?” she asked David.

David hesitated. He looked around the apartment and probably noticed the crucifix hanging over the dining room table. “Um,” he said, “No. Well yes. But I’m Jewish. So it’s not a big deal.”

“Ah,” Aunt Elane said, “But it’s the first night of Hanukkah, isn’t it? Are you celebrating with anyone?”

“Well,” David said. He looked over at Spot, “Hanukkah actually isn’t the most important holiday to my family. But I’m kind of celebrating with Spot, I guess. We’ve been hanging out.”

Aunt Elane nodded, “That’s good. Good.”

Boots cleared his throat, “Aunt Elane, can I play my new game with Spot and David?”

Spot picked up his bag. He had gone to a Walgreens and picked up some wrapping paper and wrapped the games the best he could. “First you should open your presents. Then see what game you want to play.”

Boots smiled like the sun and held out his hand for the games. He opened them carefully, not tearing the badly folded paper as he went and thanked Spot after opening each game. Spot noticed David watching both of them as it happened, looking for what he didn’t know.

Even though Boots had picked out the games himself, Spot was satisfied that he liked them, and immediately wanted to play a medieval warrior one. Aunt Elane excused herself to the kitchen, and Spot played with Boots while David watched.

 

* * *

 

 

David had been in New York for four months, and being in Aunt Elane’s apartment was his second time being in a New York apartment. He didn’t exactly have friends outside the Lodging House, and Denton’s struck him as an outlier. It was large and full of art and felt more like an office than a home.

This was a home. There were two bicycles suspended along the hallway, and there were bookshelves full of well-worn books with pictures of children and adults who looked like Aunt Elane, and photos of Boots—Isaiah?—that couldn’t have dated back more than a few years.

It was interesting to see Spot interact with someone he liked. Instead of the distracted, intermittently intense eye contact that David was used to, Spot was focused on Boots, barely looking at him or Aunt Elane.

Boots offered David a chance to play, and he did his best though he wasn’t particularly skilled at video games. Sometimes they went to Skittery and Dutchy’s room and played on their X-BOX, but David usually just watched. None of his friends in high school played videos games, and after sophomore year they didn’t have a TV at home for him to play on.

Boots laughed delighted, “You’re bad at this.”

“Boots,” Spot said sternly.

“No, it’s true,” David said, “I’m pretty bad.”

He handed the game piece back to Spot and scooted aside. “You two play, I’ll just watch.”

“Are you sure?” Spot said, “You’re never going to get good if you don’t do it.”

“That’s okay,” David said, “I don’t want to get good.”

He watched them play for a little while, then excused himself to get a drink of water. The kitchen was the size of half of David’s dorm room, which was tiny to behind with. Aunt Elane was in there basting a turkey. She didn’t look up when she said, “Water glasses are to the right.”

David retrieved a glass and went to the sink. “No,” Aunt Elane said shortly, “Not that. Filtered water in the refrigerator.”

David stepped around where Aunt Elane was kneeling in front of the oven and opened the fridge. There was so much food in their fridge it was insane. It was stuffed with food of all colors on all the shelves. He had to move a head of lettuce to get to the pitcher of water.

While he was pouring the water he heard Aunt Elane ask very quietly, “Are you involved with Spot?”

He jumped a little at the question, sending water splashing on the counter. He must have misheard her. “Excuse me?” he asked politely.

Aunt Elane rose and shut the oven door. “Are you involved with Spot?” she repeated. David looked back into the living room where Boots and Spot were still wrapped up with the video game and showed no sign of having heard what Aunt Elane said.

“No,” David said, “No not at all.”

She said, “In two years, he has never mentioned a friend, much less brought one up here.”

“Yeah, no,” David said, “No, we’re not—I don’t even— _he isn’t even—_ we’re not. We’re just friends.”

Aunt Elane looked at him with a look that communicated that she might have thought he was lying, but she was going to let him get away with it. “Spot is not a boy to be messed with,” she said, “He has been through too much to have his feelings toyed with by you.”

Was Spot gay? This lady seemed convinced he was gay, and made it sound like she thought that David was some sort of predator when in fact he was very confused by every single thing that had happened today, especially this conversation.

“I’m sorry,” David said, not at all sure what he was apologizing for, “We’re not involved. We barely know each other.”

Aunt Elane hummed. “Regardless,” she said, “Remember what I said.”

David nodded and went back into the living room where he tried his level best to pretend that hadn’t happened.

They stayed for another hour and David saw Spot smile wide three times during that time. He never took off his coat, so David didn’t either, but when it was time to go David put on his hat and his mitten and buttoned up his coat.

“Spot,” Boots said, “I gotta give you your Christmas present,”

“Aw Boots,” Spot said, “You didn’t have to give me anything.”

Boots shook his head and darted into what must have been his room. He came out with a shoe box and offered it to Spot.

Spot took the box and shook it, and something small rattled around inside. He took it out and showed no surprise when he showed David that it was a small model of the Brooklyn Bridge. “I love it Boots,” he said, “I’ll put it up in my room.”

He high fived Boots and stuck the bridge in his jacket pocket. Aunt Elane cleared her throat and approached. “Spot,” she said. She held out a black knit hat and a pair of store bought gloves. “You need these. It’s irresponsible to go out in this weather without them.”

Spot didn’t make eye contact with Aunt Elane as he took the items. “Do you want these back?”

“No,” she said shortly, “they’re yours. Stay warm.” She said it like an order.

Spot seemed at a loss for words, so David said, “We will!” before they left the warm apartment and went out to the snow blanketed streets.

It wasn’t until they were down in the street and the snow was hitting them from the back that Spot put on the hat and gloves. He tore the plastic binding on the gloves with his teeth.

“So,” Spot said, yelling over the wind. “Museum?”

David remembered the map with tthe subway transfers that Spot had planned to get them to the museum. They were much closer than they would be if they went from the Lodging House but it was still _far_ and the weather seemed dangerous. The few cars that were on the street were driving slowly and one near them slid dangerously towards the other side of the street before righting itself.

It the subway wasn’t running they were really screwed.

“It’s dangerous out here,” David yelled, “We should go back.”

“Back?” Spot said.

“To the Lodging House,” David said, “Where it’s safe.”

“But the museum,” Spot yelled, pointing in the general direction of the museum.

“We can go on Monday,” David said. He reached over and grabbed Spot by the arm and starting dragging him to the C train. It was mercifully running, and David couldn’t help but notice how grumpy Spot was when they found their seats in the train car. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Spot said.

“Seriously, what crawled in your pants?” David asked, “We just had a really nice time. Your family—”

“Aunt Elane is _not_ my family”

“ _—_ seems really nice and they gave you Christmas presents and now you’re acting all put out.”

Spot huffed. “Today isn’t about me. It’s about you. I’m trying to make it good for you.”

Hold the phone.

Spot had planned this about _him?_ David thought he was just along for the ride, especially when Spot got all defensive about going to the museum. Why would Spot care what David’s day was like? They were just hanging out because there was no one else around, not because they actually cared about each other.

“It’s the first night of Hanukkah,” Spot said, “And you’re not with your family, which I imagine you are upset about. Plus the paper thing. So I thought—see a family, see a museum, maybe you won’t cry tonight.”

“I didn’t cry,” David said, even though his mind was full and waxing processing what Spot was saying. “You don’t have to do anything for me. If I’m upset, I’m upset and it’s my job to fix it.”

Spot rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I tried.”

“You—” David started then backtracked, “It was good. Meeting Boots and his aunt. I don’t know if that was part of it, but it was nice to see a family. And we can go to the museum on Monday.”

“I’m not a little kid,” Spot said, looking out the window. “You don’t have to babysit my feelings.”

He was so the picture of a grumpy little kid though, David had to fight not to laugh.

“This isn’t what I would normally doing before the first night of Hanukkah,” David said. He felt like he owed Spot an explanation. “I’d be cooking with my mom so that we’d be done before the sun sets.”

“Oh,” Spot said, “I kind of know what you do for Hanukkah,” he said, “just from osmosis.”

David was surprised that Spot wasn’t responding with bravado or insistence that he was already an expert in Jewish culture. So he offered, “Every family does it differently. There’re prayers and customs, but my family just invites all our extended family over. We have latkes and brisket, and my dad tells terrible stories.”

Spot watched him as the subway rushed through a station. “So, you wanna do that?”

“What?”

“Hanukkah dinner. You wanna have one of those in the dorm? What do you need, do you need a rabbi or something?”

“No,” David said, “You need candles, some food, maybe challah.”

“I know what challah is,” Spot said confidently, “It’s that good braided bread, yeah? I knew a bakery in Brooklyn that threw out a ton of it, we used to eat it for—” He stopped talking and David could see from the look in his face that he had revealed more than he meant to. He cleared his throat, “So we can just do it, can’t we? Or you can, if I’m not allowed to be part of it.”

“You’re allowed,” David said quickly, “You are totally allowed to be part of it.”

His family would be so happy.

 

* * *

 

 

It took three delis, two bodegas and a grocery store for them to find everything they needed. They focused their search near the Lodging House, only risking short walks outside where the blizzard had gotten worse.

Spot was glad he wasn’t out this winter. He didn’t have to waste all his minds energy gaming how to stay warm, how to get food. Even if he wasn’t thrilled where he was, he knew that Boots was safe and warm and that mattered. He could dedicate more of his energy to other things, like making sure David didn’t cry again.

David confidently navigated the delis and bodegas, assertively asking for challah and “latkes” and finding candles in the back of a grocery store that he said would do. He didn’t act like the world was ending when Spot used his fake to buy two bottles of red wine, which was progress.

They picked up bagels and cream cheese and frozen pizzas too, and frozen fries and more ice cream. The storm wasn’t going anywhere, and David reasoned they had to be prepared to stay in the lodging house for a couple days. Spot was just glad he wasn’t sticking to bread and butter anymore.

Back at the lodging house, David left all their purchases in the common room. “We have about an hour before sunset,” he said, “We should get ready.”

David disappeared to his room then came back with the Tupperware bin full of pots and pans in one hand, and a menorah and baggie of candles in the other. He stock them both on the table.

Spot got out his laptop so he would have something to do while David stuck the fozen pizza in the oven and heated up the latkes in a frying pan. An alarm on David’s phone went off at 4:10, making Spot jump.

“Okay, it’s almost time,” David said. He turned off the stovetop. We need to get the table ready. Come on, get up, be helpful.” But he wasn’t much help as David fussed with the plates of food and unwrapped the candles. “I don’t have a lighter.”

“Not to mention fire is not allowed in the dorms,” Spot said.

David waved him off, “Religious exemption. Someone has to have a lighter right? Someone on this floor?”

“I don’t,” Spot said, “Racetrack doesn’t.”

“Skittery smokes, doesn’t he?” David said, “I’ve seen it, he has a bag of bics on his dresser. Could you go get one?”

“The doors are all locked,” Spot said. He’d checked.

“Yeah, but you can get in right?” David said boldly, like he was trying to inspire confidence.

“What makes you think I can break into a room?”

“You can can’t you?”

“…yeah.” Spot was sure to show his annoyance as he broke into Skittery and Dutchy’s room, slamming the door closed when he left. David paid him no mind; he held his hand out greedily for the lighter.

When another alarm went off on his phone, David dragged Spot over to stand over the table. There was was one candle in the menorah, a plate of latkes, a bacon cheeseburger pizza, and a two loaves of challah.

David produced a bic lighter and flicked it on. “My mom usually does this, so I might mess it up.”

“We could find a woman on the street,” Spot said.

“Hush,” David said. He lit the candle and then began reciting a prayer in Hebrew. It wasn’t long, but Spot wrapped all his attention up in watching David’s mouth form the words, admiring the confident way he spoke another language.

It was cool as hell.

When David was done he gestured for Spot to sit down. David followed, and Spot watched him carefully, copying what he did to make sure he didn’t break a ritual. But David was just loading his plate with food, the only weird thing he did was put cream cheese on the hall, so Spot did that too.

David was smiling. “This is good,” David said, “Thank you. I’ll call my parents and they’ll be pleased.”

Spot didn’t explore why his stomach sank when David said he was going to call his parents. It made sense. People who had parents called them, especially to share good news, and Spot was glad that something he did wasn’t a fucking crime for once.

“Yeah,” Spot said, “This was—fun.”

“Don’t sound too enthusiastic.”

“No,” he said, as sincerely as he dared, “I had a good time.”

 

* * *

 

 

David brought the menorah into his room with him, careful of the flames as he walk down the hall. He put the menorah down on the windowsill and sat down on the bed and called his parents.

Mama answered after one ring, “David, hold on!” she said, and David could hear the sounds of his family and the kitchen in the background. It didn’t make him ache as much as it did the last time he called.

“David,” Mama said, “Happy happy Hannukah.”

“Happy happy hannukah,” David said.

“Yes!” Mama laughed, “Oh, honey we missed you tonight. You are always telling those wonderful stories and making everyone laugh.”

“I had a Hannukah dinner tonight, Mama,” he said, “I did it with a friend of mine.”

“Oh that’s wonderful. David, I am so happy. We should have called you and done it with you.”

David scooted back on his bed, getting comfortable. “That’s alright, it was good this way. I don’t think he’d ever been to one before, and it would have been overwhelming for him if you and Les and Sarah were on speaker too.”

“Very thoughtful David,” Mom said, “sounds like you care a lot about this friend.”

David laughed, “No, no. I’m just being your good thoughtful son.”

He could almost hear Mom smiling over the phone, “You sound so much better David,” she said, “lighter. It’s hard for a mother to know that her child was in pain and not be able to stop it.”

“I wasn’t in pain,” David lied. But his mom was right. He was feeling better today. He still had stray guilty thoughts for what he had done, especially when he looked at his or Spot’s phone and was reminded of the moment he saw his grades. But somehow Spots absolute acceptance of what he had done had soothed some of his anxiety. Spot wasn’t a reliable source for ethics, it was his business that profited from what David had done. But he didn’t judge David, and he seemed to actually want to be around him. David found that he enjoyed being around Spot, now that he knew what to expect. He never would have had a Hanukkah dinner if it wasn’t for him.

“I’m doing better now,” he allowed.

“I’m so glad David,” Mama said, “Is your friend a good one?” she asked.

David nodded, “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I’d say he’s turning out to be a pretty good friend.”

He talked to Dad next, then Sarah, then Les, then he begged off the phone before he was handed off to the rest of the Jacobs family. He wanted to get back to Spot. They had talked about watching the second Terminator movie, and he was looking forward to it.

After changing into his debate sweatshirt and pajama shorts, he went down the hall and knocked on Spots door. He hadn’t been to Spots door since the first night, Spot had been the one to come to him since. He’d never been in Spot’s room either.

Spot answered the door dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt. His hair was wet and combed back. The room was dark behind him.

“Hey,” David said, “Did you want to watch that movie?”

“Oh,” Spot said. Why did he sound surprised? “Yeah. Yeah, you can come in. We have an actual TV.”

Spot flipped on the light on the door, lighting up the dorm room. David took a second to take it in. The room was the same size as his and Jacks’ but it felt bigger. They had bunked their beds, stacked their bookcases and pushed the dressers together. There was a flat screen TV on top of the dressers. On the opposite side of the beds were their desks, which were completely clear, and there was a grey couch that looked like it came out of a catalog. The room was clean, the surfaces clear. It looked like something out of an ad for dorm living.

“Jeez,” David said, “Does one of you have OCD?”

“Does one of us have the at times debilitating neurological disorder obsessive compulsive disorder and experience intrusive thoughts and compulsions that can include but are not necessarily related to cleaning?” Spot said, “No, we do not. We’re just neat.” He shook his head. “Sorry, pet peeve. I’ve written a lot of Intro to Psych papers.”

“Sorry,” David said.

“Whatever,” Spot said, “Come in, sit. I’ll text Racetrack that we’re using the Netflix.”

David sat on the grey couch, pulling his feet up and getting comfortable. Spot reached on top of the top bunk for his phone and started texting. When he was done he pulled off his socks and threw them on the top bunk. He turned on a lamp on the dressers and turned off the overhead light so that the room was warmly light with low light. He took his laptop and set up the movie, then came and sat down next to David.

“Oh,” David said, surprised. “You’re not going to sit on the bed?”

Spot gave him a look, “What, and use binoculars to see? There’s enough room for both of us.”

There was enough room for both of them.

David had never seen the movie before, but the movie passed slowly. He was hyperaware of Spot sitting behind him. He could hear him breathe. Every once in a while their legs brushed against one another, and Spot always pulled back quickly.

He wasn’t drunk. He had only one glasses of wine hours ago.

Was he imagining things?

When the movie finally ended David wasn’t sure he could tell anyone what it was about. Spot between him and the television, and he got up and turned off the video.

“Thank you,” David said suddenly. Spot leaving the couch had cleared his mind some. “For today. It was really good to be able to do some holiday traditions.”

Spot shrugged, “Yeah, whatever.”

“Seriously,” David said, “Thank you. For everything. Can I make it up to you?”

Spot sat back down on the couch, facing David this time. “How?”

“I don’t know,” David said, “Do you have any holiday traditions that you want to do tomorrow?”

“I told you,” Spot said, “I don’t celebrate anything that happened over two thousand years ago. I just do whatever the people around me are doing and hope it’s good. This,” he pointed towards the common room then gestured to David, “This was good. I’m going to remember this.”

“Yeah?” David asked.

“Yeah,” Spot said.

They made eye contact. Spot was looking at him, intently, watching him. David was watching Spot too. He noticed the way his chest rose as he breathed, the way his hair fell forwards his face, the way his lips—

David was never one for taking risks. For leaping before he looked, or making the first move. But he leaned forward and closed his eyes. He knew if he got this wrong he was going to be alone for the rest of break, and Spot would have full rights to tell everyone in the dorm that he was a freak.

But he hadn’t gotten it wrong.

First he heard Spot move, then he felt a hand on his shoulder, then Spots lips on his. Spot wrapped his hand around the back of David’s head and David dared to put his hand at Spot’s waist and he was _kissing Spot Conlon._

Spot kissed him hesitantly, not moving much at all, but holding tight to David’s body like he thought he might float away. David followed suit, not wanting to spook him, just gently pulling away then going in again, softly drawing them together in the dim light of the room.

Eventually, too quickly, Spot pulled away and said, “oh,” tonelessly.

“What oh?” David demanded, “Good ‘oh’, bad ‘oh’, you shouldn’t have done that ‘oh’.”

“Oh,” Spot repeated.

Then leaned in and kissed him again.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Disclaimers! I have spent very little time in Manhattan in the winter (and ever) so this is a lot of guessing and research. Also I am not Jewish, I've done a lot of research and I've worked in a culturally Jewish space and I recognize that I may have gotten things wrong so please let me know if anything needs to be fixed!


	6. Tidings of Comfort and Joy

He kissed David. He kissed David. No—

David kissed _him._

And he kissed him back.

And now they were sitting on his couch staring at each other.

“Um,” Spot said, “Did you want to keep going?”

They’d been kissing on the couch for at least five minutes.

“Oh!” David said. He looked startled. “No! I mean yes? But no not if you don’t want to.”

Spot felt his face warm. Fuck. “Let’s get some drinks, yeah?”

“Oh,” David said, “Yeah, let’s do that.”

He got off the couch easily and used the excuse to go to the common room. Racetrack would chew him out for leaving a “random” alone in their room where he could rob them or find Race’s cash. He didn’t care. The common room was a mess. They’d left behind plates half full of food and all the food they’d bought was on the countertop.

There was a half empty and unopened bottle of wine. Spot grabbed the open bottle and took a long drink.

Was David playing a joke on him? Kiss the virgin and then—

Not that David could possibly know that.

There’s no way David actually _liked him._

Spot took a deep breath because there was no one there to see him do it. Steadying himself he went back to his room, knowing David was there. Did David want to kiss him again? Who knew all it took to reduce Spot Conlon to a confused wreck was kissing him.

He cleared his throat and walked through the door, “Look what I found,” he said loudly, “We barely made a dent. The responsible thing to do is drink it all. Come on, get a glass.”

David looked around and found the shelf on top of Racetrack’s fridge full of assorted plastic cups and glasses. He reached over and got two glasses. Spot took them with one hand and put them on the desk. He focused on the image of the red wine falling into each glass, filling them up and the small bubbles that appeared.

“I’ve never had red wine before tonight,” he said stupidly, “It’s what like, grannies drink.”

“Yeah?” David teased, “And you’re too hard for it, huh? Just whiskey and rum for you?”

“And beer,” Spot added, “Beer is fine.”

David nodded. Spot tried to measure whether they were back to normal yet. If they would ever get back to normal. David smiled at him and took the glass when offered, but his smile was hesitant, not fully there.

“This is weird,” Spot said.

David sighed. “It is. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

What?

“You didn’t want to?” Spot asked.

“No! I,” Davids faced almost instantly turned a deep red, “I wanted to. I just—things are weird now? And I didn’t mean to make it weird, and I’m sorry about that.” Spot took a drink. Then after consideration, took another. David laughed weakly. “I’m dying. I’m about to die. Say something.”

“I—” Spot started, but he didn’t know where to go from there. He hadn’t bee thinking about kissing David until the moment before he leaned forward and did it. He had been noticing how smart and funny and fucking _sharp_ David was, and the way his eyes lit up when he smiled which he was doing more now. It made him feel good to be around David these past few days.

He never felt good. He was feeling weird now.

“I don’t hate that you did it,” Spot finally said.

“Oh good,” David said, “That’s what every guy dreams of hearing.”

“What?” Spot asked. That was good. “I liked it, okay? It was good.”

“You sound angry about it,” David said.

Spot rubbed his eyes with his free hand. What was it about David that made him want to tell the truth? Lying was so much easier, most of the time lies came to him faster than honesty. But he found himself telling David, “Look I’m not—I don’t date or anything okay? That’s not like a regular activity for me.”

“Oh,” David said. He sat down on the grey couch. After a moment of consideration, Spot sat down next to him. “Okay, yeah, you know, me neither. I was really busy in high school with work, and speech and debate when I could. I like, was able to date this one guy on my team, but he broke up with me because I was always too busy to do anything. But—so I get it I mean. This is kind of new to me too.”

Spot was in the business of survival until four months ago. Getting involved with someone else was either impossible, dangerous or a bad use of the little time and energy he had. It wasn’t until he got to Pulitzer that he realized he could do something about the feelings he had, and it wouldn’t have to hurt.

“We’re not dating, we just kissed,” Spot said, feeling a strong need to make the distinction.

David laughed his loud short laugh, “I know, listen I know. Should we just forget this ever happened?”

Fuck.

“I didn’t say that,” Spot said, “We can,” he gestured frantically between them, “Again. Just. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Oh,” David said, screwing up his face, “Was that—was that your first kiss?”

_No._

_No._

Say _no._

Laugh and say _no._

Say _no and fuck you very much I am_ _eighteen years old of course I have kissed somebody before._

“Yes,” Spot said against every single instinct that had kept him alive this far.

“Oh!” David said for the ten thousandth time. He looked relieved. “That’s okay. That’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine,” Spot snapped.

David wasn’t phased. “Listen we’ll take it slow—if you want to do that again. Only if you do. We don’t have to.”

He expected to be mocked, because he should have been. It was embarrassing. He didn’t expect this nice guy thing David was doing because David was an asshole sometimes, but he was also fucking nice. This whole thing was so against his modus operandi. He was supposed to be in charge, be skilled. He was supposed to know what he was doing.

But he didn’t, and David still liked him. Still wanted to kiss him.

The kissing was good. It was weird and scary but it felt _good._

Spot shut his eyes and opened them to find David looking at him intently, “I—yeah,” he said, “Yeah we can do it again.”

So they did.

 

* * *

 

 

The couch got uncomfortable eventually, once they had tried many angles and positions. Nothing too advanced, nothing crazy, but David got sick of the metal bar at the end of the couch digging into his back.

It was Spot’s idea to put his twin mattress on the dorm room floor. He had three flannel blankets that he brought down too, and a pillow with pink polka dot pattern. “Go get yours,” he said to David, doing the no eye contact thing.

“My mattress?” David questioned, “You want me to walk down the hall, remove my mattress from my bed, then walk down the hall again and leave it on your bedroom floor.”

“Yeah,” Spot said in the same tone that he would say “duh.”

So he did.

They set their mattresses side by side on the ground, touching each other at the edges. With the lights still on low, they turned the TV back on and got into their beds. Spot’s blankets stayed on his own mattress, but they lay together side by side as _Taken_ played on the screen above them. The TV lit up Spot’s face. Lying on his side staring openly up at the screen, Spot looked young and open, and David was struck by the knowledge that he may be one of the few people who got to see him this way.

When he woke up the TV was still on. His comforter had made its way onto Spot’s mattress, and one of Spot’s flannel blankets was hooked over David’s leg. They hadn’t touched each other all night, David could tell. Despite spending multiple nights sleeping in the same room as Spot, this one felt the most intimate. It was different.

It was the first time Spot was asleep when David woke up. He was lying with both his arms crossed over his eyes and his shirt rucked up over his stomach. David resisted the urge to reach over and pull a blanket over him. Something told him that touching Spot when he was asleep was a bad idea.

He still wasn’t sure if last night was a mistake. Spot seemed freaked out for a little, but then they found their footing again. And again. David felt a little guilty for being Spot’s first kiss—but how could he have known that fierce, angry, in control of every room he entered Spot had never been kissed? He felt like he had precious knowledge, like he was invited into something but he didn’t know what.

David wanted to poke Spot awake and demand to know if he hated him for what they did that night. Instead, he sat up and checked his phone. He had a series of snaps from Jack showing him waking up early with his friend’s family and their seeming dozens of children, cheering like crazy because “SANTA CAME! OH MY GOD!”

Jack was the loudest.

At the sound of the videos, Spot stirred on the mattress and let out a sigh.

It was cute.

“The fuck is that,” he grumbled.

“It’s snapchats from Jack,” David explained, “He’s staying with a family with a ton of kids.”

“In Santa Fe no doubt,” Spot yawned.

“Where else,” David said.

Spot sat up, his shit falling down as he did. He yawned again. “Okay,” he said, “It’s,” he checked his watch, “10:48, and we’re probably still snowed in. I vote we go back to sleep until January.”

David wanted to wake up, he felt invigorated. More than wanting to wake up, he wanted to spend more time with Spot, to soak up more days of adventures and figuring out what made him tick.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s Christmas.”

“Neither of us celebrates Christmas,” Spot groaned.

He risked reaching over and nudging Spot in the shoulder. “Come on, we have fresh bagels that are getting worse by the minute.

There were full wall windows in the common room that looked out over the street below. David took a moment to look out over the world. The snow was deep and piled high in the streets. The snow was falling sedately, and the only car on the road was a snow plow that was slowly makings its way through the white piles. He could see from above the that the door to the lodging house was covered in snow.

“The blizzard is over,” he told Spot. “It must not have been as bad as they thought.”

“Thank god,” Spot said, “I thought we’d be stuck in here forever.”

Wasn’t such a bad thought. “Yeah,” David said, “Good for all the people traveling on Christmas.”

They ate bagels and Spot made fun of him for the way he spread cream cheese. Things were almost the same as they were before, but Spot sat a little closer to him at the table and looked at him a little differently. Longer.

“Okay,” David said, “So what are we doing today?”

“Seriously,” Spot said, “Drinking and sleeping. That’s all I want to do.”

 “It’s not even noon,” David said.

“That’s not a real rule.”

David considered it. He was tired of watching TV, tired of reading, tired of going out and getting his boots flooded with snow. Relaxing for a day was in order. “Do you want to play a board game?”

“You and Jackie Boy have a board game collection up there?” 

“No, but Crutchy has like a thousand.”

Spot gave him an exaggerated burdened look. “And I suppose you want me to break into his room and steal from him. I’m getting mixed signals Davey. You don’t want me to steal from tourists, yet our own downtrodden peers are free game?”

 “You’re not stealing, just borrowing,” David said. “If you’re not comfortable—“

“Oh I’m comfortable,” Spot said. He stood up and started heading down the hall, “Just feeling taken advantage of!” he yelled.

Within a minute he smacked a stack of board games on the common room table. David gleefully choose monopoly and after it initially became clear that Spot would cheat if he was the banker, took on the serious role of banker.

“I’m the top hat,” Spot said. “No negotiations on that.”

David bought the cheap properties while Spot waited and went for the bigger game. While they played they talked.

“So did you go to one of those notoriously bad Chicago Public Schools?” Spot asked, “You’re the shame of America, you know.

“It’s more a symptom of Illinois being a problem than the schools independently, the whole state is mismanaged. But yes, I did go to a CPS school. A magnet school at first, then I transferred to a regular school.”

“Why?”

“Did I transfer? Uh, I started ditching school a lot and they took issue with it. The regular school did not.”

The decision to transfer was a no-brainer. The magnet school was across the city and it took over an hour to get there every day. He needed that time to work. Plus the local PS didn’t freak out every time he missed a pop quiz.

“Can I ask you something?” he started with. He was curious about Spot, had been since that week before the semester, and he felt like he was at a point where he could start asking questions, “Did you go to high school?”

Spot laughed and gestured to the dorm in general. “They don’t just let anyone in willy-nilly. I went to a garbage alternative school for my senior year and most of junior year. Plus they played at school whenever I was in juvie.”

“But you didn’t go to high school before that?”

“Nope.”

“How’d you graduate in two years?” 

Spot smirked and rolled the die. “Ain’t you heard? I’m a god damn genius.”

David saved more money than Spot did, so he started putting hotels on the board first. They disagreed loudly about whether a player got $200 or $400 when they landed on GO. David accepted early and easily that he was going to lose.

They volleyed between topics for a while, never going very deep, keeping their focus on talking about the other people at Pulitzer and eventually pulling out their phones to compare schedules next semester.

They were both taking Business Math on Tuesdays and Thursdays. David tried not to get ahead of himself picturing study nights. 

When he was about six moves away from winning Spot stared at the board and asked, “So you have a brother and a sister?”

David paused. He didn’t remember ever talking about Les or Sarah around Spot. “How did you know that?”

Spot pointed down the hall. “Pictures. On your wall. I know you got second in some debate competition too.” That was enough of an explanation. Spot seemed to think so too, because he went on to ask, “So are you the oldest or what?”

It was the most personal question Spot had asked, and he was looking away from David as he did. David considered giving him a basic answer to let him off the hook, but he found that he wanted to talk about his family. He wanted to tell someone about them.

“Sarah’s the oldest,” he said, “But only by a year. She was only a year ahead of me in school. She is amazing with computers, she built the computer in my parent's apartment and won an award from a state coding competition. But right now she works at Walgreens in one of their photo centers. She’s a shift manager, so she’s kind of in charge. And Les, he’s in sixth grade. He’s a funny kid, has lots of friends who always want to come over. Sometimes he seems like he’s way older, you know? Like he’ll say something and I can’t believe it came from a twelve-year-old.”

Spot interrupted to demand rent from one of his properties, holding his hand out greedily. David paid, and he was sure that the topic of conversation was interrupted until Spot said, “Boots is the same way. There’ll be times he’ll say something so fancy I’m like _damn kid._ He writes poems, he got one printed on a bus ad through a contest once.”

David smiled, “That’s awesome.” 

Spot shrugged. “Yeah. It sounds like your siblings are decent too.”

“Yes, they’ll love being described as decent.”

They took another turn in silence then David decided that if Spot was asking him a personal question, he could ask Spot the same one. “So…do you have any siblings?”

Spot didn’t look up at the question, but he didn’t stutter as he shuffled the Big Fun cards and drew one. “That one’s a big old mystery. I never thought about it.”

“You never thought about it?” David repeated, keeping his tone even.

“Nah,” Spot said, “My parents weren’t exactly a consistent presence, and when they were around they didn’t confide in me as to whether they had some other kid stashed somewhere.”

“Stashed somewhere?” David said.

“You parrot a lot, you know that?” Spot said, “You landed on Park Place, pay up.” The moment was over.

They went another round before David said, “First job,” David prompted, “What was your first job?” 

“You first,” Spot said. 

David was ready, “When I was fourteen, I spent a summer working at this weird hot dog stand that was in the middle of an intersection. I got one free hot dog a shift, and made under minimum wage.” 

Spot whistled, “Gotta be worth it for that hot dog though.”

David shook his head, “I hate hot dogs. I ate it because it was free, but you couldn’t pay me to eat one now. Les loved it though, I would save the free ones in a bag and he would always eat it, no matter how much time had passed since it came off the grill.” He nodded to Spot, “Your turn.” 

Spot shrugged, “The mail room is my first legit job.”

“But that’s not your first time working,” David said. He wasn’t clear on why he was sure of this, but he was.

“Nah,” Spot agreed, “I guess technically my first job was that I would go to stores with my dad and pretend to be a lost child. I would cry and scream for my mommy—get everyone looking at me and keep the attention off my dad while he stole whatever shit he thought he could pawn. That was a job, because my dad would give me a dollar each time.”

Shit. “How old were you?” he asked.

Spot didn’t look at him, “I don’t know. Real young. I just remember understanding that if I didn’t do it good, I’d be in trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” David said. It seemed like the right thing to say, “That sounds—”

“Terrible?” Spot interrupted, “Scarring? Traumatizing? That’s nothing. That’s running errands with my dad. That was _supposed_ to be a funny story.”

David laughed sarcastically, which for some reason made Spot laugh for real, and David laughed just from seeing Spot Conlon laugh, and he almost forgot what they were talking about in the first place.

Almost.

  

* * *

 

 

Monopoly got boring so they dipped into the rum and the rest of the pizza. Mattress surfing was an obvious next step.

“Come on,” he begged David, “The hallway is the perfect width, all we have to do is bring one of the mattresses into the hallway and then have a fucking ball sliding down the hall. It can be my mattress. I don’t care.”

David shook is head, “No. No, no, okay? It’s too dangerous. Neither of us has health insurance, if there is any damage to the dorm over break they will obviously blame one of us. It can’t be fun enough to be worth the risk.”

Spot took a moment to think about what David said, then decided _fuck that_ and went to his room to get his mattress. He pulled his blankets off the mattress and threw them on the top bunk, then dragged the mattress into the hall. David was close at his heels.

“Spot, this is so unsafe. There are rules for a reason. You can’t do this.”

Spot ignored him. He wanted to surf down the hall on a mattress and no one could stop him. “You don’t have to do it, just watch me and be amazed.

David didn’t stop _talking_ the whole time Spot dragged the mattress to the middle of the hall. He even talked while Spot when Spot ran towards it, and jumped and slid with his hands out for balance. He didn’t go as fast as they did when they were sliding on their socks, but it was still cool as hell.

He turned around and faced David who was still talking at the end of the hall.

“—not to mention the potential for a lawsuit which you can ill afford at this point—” 

“Look!” Spot yelled down the hall, “No broken bones, no shattered walls, we’ll all clear. Even someone as responsible as you can do this.”

“Pass,” David said smugly.

Spot went twice again before David was convinced to try. “Just once,” he said, “Just because we’ve already come this far.”

“And it looks fun,” Spot said.

“And it looks fun,” David admitted.

When David slid he fell off the mattress halfway down the hall, and Spot ran to him to make sure he was okay.

“Any broken bones,” he asked, crouching over David, “Do we have to go to the emergency room?”

David was sprawled out, half on half on the mattress, looking dazed. “I think I’m okay?”

“Who won the election?” Spot asked, mimicking an EMT.

David blinked and shook his head. “I know the answer to this, but it seems wrong.”

Spot laughed. “You’re fine.” He reached out and pulled David back onto the mattress where he was kneeling. David ended up half lying half sitting up beside him. Their faces were inches away from each other. “This seems like a moment when we should kiss,” he said.

“No ‘should,’” David said, “Only if you want to.”

“I want to,” Spot said, “If you don’t—“

David leaned forward and kissed him. It was weird kissing in the hallway, but Spot closed his eyes and tried to stay in the moment. David was warm beneath him, and Spot braced his arm on the mattress and pulled his other arm around David’s shoulder. He thought that he was doing it right. David didn’t seem to dislike it.

Then David shifted and he felt—he felt David. Spot pulled away faking a cough as an excuse. Fuck.

He’d always known deep down that he was gay, even though he didn’t have the track record to back it up. It was just something he knew was true the first time he saw Terminator 2 when he was five and had a crush on John Connor. He’d had to deal with it some before, but now it was real and it was in his face—against his leg—and he was fucking it up.

 “We should put this back,” he said, “Before the police come and see we are using a mattress wrong.”

“I think we’re actually using it right,” David joked. Spot sat up and got off the mattress. “Hey, you good?” David asked.

“I’m good,” Spot said, “Help me put this back.”

“Yeah,” David said. He stood up and lifted one side of the mattress, “Yeah, okay"

 

* * *

 

That evening David lit the Menorah and tried not to let Spot playing with the lighter distract him from saying the blessings. They passed some time running up and down the hall of the dorm, making noise and yelling obscenities. Spot did most of the yelling. Eventually, they tired out and it was time for Netflix and Chill.

“Hey,” David said, “Now that we’re, you know. Is it considered Netflix and Chill?”

Spot blinked. “Oh shit. I guess so.”

They lay on the mattresses on the floor. They stayed on their separate mattresses, didn’t even touch one another as the movie played on the screen above them. 

They were watching some movie about a mansion being broken into, and David was distracted by how big the house was, and how much food would fit in the cabinets in the kitchen. A sad acting family of four lived in there, but the entire Lodging House could fit in the cavernous rooms.

Spot was watching the screen carefully too. “You gonna get a house like that when you’re rich?”

“I’m not going to be rich,” David said. He knew it. He was sure.

“Sure you are,” Spot said, “You’re smart as hell, you go to a fancy college. You’ll get your fancy degree then be whatever you wanna be and you’ll get rich.”

“You’re going to be rich,” David said, “You already own a business. I can’t imagine what you’ll do with a degree.”

“I’ll be rich,” Spot agreed, “They’ll make movies about me. I’m going to buy property in the one block of Brooklyn that doesn’t suck anymore and I’ll put all my money into it." 

“What would you apartment be like?”

“House,” Spot corrected, “I’ll have black out curtains so I can sleep whenever I want. You know what a pantry is? It’s like an entire closet that’s full of food. I’d have one of those. The entire living room will have surround sound and a flat screen and video games. Oh and a fucking tub. I would make sure it had a kick ass tub.”

“A tub?” David teased.

“You ever taken a bath? It’s amazing,” Spot said defensively, “Alright, what would your rich guy house be?”

David tried to think of a house for himself, something like Denton’s apartment maybe, but all he could think of was an apartment for his family. “I think I would buy a house for my parents first,” he admitted, “Something with counter space for my mom, enough bedrooms for no one to have to share or sleep in the living room. Air conditioning. A gas stove.”

“Damn, you sound like one of those real estate shows,” Spot said.

David didn’t know what that meant, but he explained, “I’ve thought a lot about this. My whole life it’s been all five of us in a one bedroom apartment. We make it work, but it’s so tight. Sometimes I wanted privacy so badly I wanted to scream. Which makes it weird that being alone this week sucked so much." 

Spot whistled. “Five people in a one bedroom? That’s tight.”

“Me and my siblings shared, and my parents had a bed in the living room,” David explained, “It made having friends over hard. So we mostly didn’t.”

Spot nodded. He was staring at the ceiling. David was staring at him.

“Does it ever freak you out how fucking unlikely it is that we’d end up here?” Spot said, his voice soft, “Like, statistically speaking I should be in prison right now.”

“I should be working for my sister at Walgreens,” David said, “That was the plan until I got the email from Denton.”

“Our man Denton,” Spot sang.

“Our man Denton,” David agreed.

Tomorrow they would have to leave the Lodging House. They were almost out of food, and as long as the streets were clear there was no reason for them to stay cooped up together for another day. Today had been like a strange blip in the universe. No one called either of them, and for one day it was like only they existed and this floor of the dorm was all that existed.

It was nice but it couldn’t last.

“I’m glad it turned out this way,” David said. He reached over and nudged Spot in the arm.

“Yeah,” Spot said, reaching back from the nudge the poking him, “It’s better than Walgreens I bet.”

“Or prison.”

“Food’s better at least. Company too.”

David took that as a good sign.

Out of nowhere, Spot asked, “Do you still wish you were with your family?”

David wanted to say yes outright, but that wasn’t true. He was looking forward to tomorrow, and the desperate need he felt to be absolved for spending the money he could have used to go home had faded some. He was just trying to survive. Still, he missed the way the apartment smelled like citrus and laundry detergent, and the sound of Les singing in his sleep.

But he still wanted to fall asleep next to Spot.

“Sort of,” David explained, “I still want to go to the museum tomorrow, but I wouldn’t be mad if I magically had a plane ticket home.”

“Okay,” Spot said, “I can work with that.”

David was too sleepy to ask what that meant.

Eventually, the movie ended and another one started, but they were falling asleep under the glow of the television, and the reflection of the snow falling outside.

 

 


	7. Come On

 

The trip up to the Museum of New York History was mired with delays and was nearly ruined when some asshole tried to cut in front of them at the turnstiles and Spot got into a shouting match with a man twice his size.

David had to physically drag him away and they took a different train because David was not getting arrested today, no thank you.

At the museum, David read the labels and Spot wore his headphones and pretended not to be interested in anything, even though he definitely lingered at an exhibit about 19th century Brooklyn for longer than someone who didn’t care would.

"You love this city don't you?" David asked.

Spot glared at him, "It's a mountain of trash floating around and Brooklyn is being gentrified to no end by disgusting--" 

"You really love it," David poked.

Spot shrugged and went back to reading a display about the Brooklyn Bridge. 

They ended the day back at the lodging house where they made French toast with the leftover challah and David discovered that the reason that Spot never helped in the kitchen was because he had no idea what to do.

“Whisk this,” David said, handing him a bowl of eggs. Spot banged the whisk against the side of the bowl a few times, frowned then handed the bowl back to David.

“I did it.”

“You did not!” David said, his voice high. “You. did. nothing.”

Spot grabbed the bowl back and banged the whisk against the side of the bowl a few more times. “See? It’s done.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing do you?” David grinned.

“Shut up,” Spot said. David took over cooking. Spot sat down at the table with his laptop. “What are you working on?” he asked, “You’re not still getting paper requests are you?”

“Some,” Spot said, his eyes on the screen, “Not enough that I have to write any though.”

“Then what are you working on?”

Spot was quiet for long enough that David began deciding whether to ask the question again or let it go. Just as he was about to ask again, Spot said, “I’m working on your refund.”

David turned away from the French toast he had in the frying pan. “My what?”

“Your refund,” Spot said, like David was supposed to know what he was talking about. “For your paper.”

David turned away from the French toast. “I don’t want your charity. I don’t take charity from anyone. And there’s no need for a refund, your paper did exactly what it was supposed to do.”

Spot looked away from his screen, his gaze settling over David’s shoulder, “You were dissatisfied with your service, and we guarantee satisfaction.”

“If you try to venmo me $200 I won’t accept it.”

“I’m not going to venmo you anything,” Spot said.

“Good.”

Spot turned his laptop around and showed David the screen. “I’m sending you home.”

David was silent. He left the stove and looked closer at Spot’s laptop. On the screen was a list of Greyhound tickets for a trip to Chicago that left at various points the next day.

He didn’t understand what he was seeing. Spot tried to convince him to spend money sometimes, like with food, was he trying to convince him to buy a ticket home? David couldn’t see the price for the ticket, but he knew he didn’t have enough in his account.

And why would he go home now? The first night of Hanukkah had passed, at this point, his family just lit the menorah and sang blessings, but the real celebration was basically over.

And he and Spot—

He and Spot.

Something was happening.

“What?” David said.

“Well,” Spot said, “The paper you found so unsatisfying cost you the ability to get a bus ticket home. I’m paying you back by buying you a bus ticket there, and back here.”

He seemed to think it was all very reasonable. “I’m not taking your charity,” David said.

“It’s not charity,” Spot said, “It’s a refund. You would buy a bus ticket if you had your money back, right?”

Maybe?

He was desperate to see his family. He never went more than a weekend without seeing them before this, and sometimes he missed them so much that he choked back tears at night, thinking about what Mama was doing now, what Sarah was reading.

But what he and Spot had just started was new, and it was cool and it was exciting and he wanted to see what happened.

“Why do you even care?” David asked, “You got your money.”

Spot finally made eye contact with him, “Look. I know I ain’t Mother Theresa, but it don’t square with me that one of my papers gave someone a fucking panic attack. It’s obvious that you would have gone home if you could have, so now you can. Go home.”

It was a gift, probably the best Hanukkah gift he’d ever been offered, so why did it feel so weird?

“Are you serious?” David said.

“If you don’t accept this, I _will_ venmo you $200 every day until you accept it or die.”

He thought of accepting the gift then watched what he had mentally planned for him and Spot for the next week and a half. Days exploring Manhattan, cooking, playing card games while it snowed. He planned on falling asleep on the mattress on the floor beside him ever night. Kissing him. Seeing where it all went.

Spot was oblivious to everything in his head. “Look, you love your family. And as you’re so fond of saying, they love you. If you don’t go now, you’re not going to be able to go for months.”

David sat down. “Come with me.”

Spot stood up. “What?”

“Come with me, to Chicago. You can hang out with my family, see where I grew up. It would be fun. All the exploring we were going to do in Manhattan, we’d do in Chicago instead.”

Spot shook his head. “Your toast is burning.”

David turned around and saw smoke rising from the frying pan. “Shit!” he cried out. He ran over to the stove and dumped the toast into the trash can and turned off the burner. “Is the fire alarm going to go off?”

“I don’t think they work,” Spot said, “Skittery’s smoked in here before.”

“That’s encouraging,” David said, “We could die in our sleep.”

“Yeah, that’s Pulitzer Universtiy for you.”

His veins were jumping from the smoke but he hadn’t lost track of what they were talking about. As he tried to clean up the mess that had been made he said, “Seriously. Come with me. Have you ever left New York?”

“Why would you assume I’d never left New York?” Spot said, not sounding particularly offended.

“Doesn’t seem your brand,” David said, “Chicago is great. Beautiful in the winter.”

“Pass,” Spot said.

David waited for more.

“Pass?”

“Pass,” Spot repeated, “I don’t need to come with you, I’ll just ruin things. I don’t gotta meet your family.”

“They’d be happy to have you,” David said, even though he wasn’t completely sure of it, “We’d make room for you.”

“I’m not built for families,” Spot said flatly.

Desperate now, David said, “Everyone is built for families, it’s an evolutionary imperative.”

Spot narrowed his eyes, “Yeah? Then I’ll go extinct. Seriously. Just go home to your family that loves you.”

He was mad now? How was David supposed to process this as a favor when Spot was angry and sending him away? He was so confused. “I’m not letting you send me away and call it a favor.”

Spot seemed to realized how angry he got because he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “You’re not a puppy. I’m not sending you away. I’m not doing you a favor. I am providing a refund to you in the form of bus tickets. It’s basically a rip-off.”

“And you won’t come with me?” David asked.

“I don’t belong in the Midwest,” Spot said seriously, “I’m not nice enough.”

David wasn’t sure if he belonged in the Midwest either, but he knew that he was desperate to go back.

He was off at the library for the next five days—a “holiday gift”—so he allowed Spot to buy a bus ticket that left the city at 5 AM the next day, and one that would return the coming Sunday so he could make his afternoon shift.

He would still have a few days alone with Spot before everyone else came back from break.

“I’ll miss you,” David admitted. He realized he may have gone too far when Spot looked at him like he was crazy, but his expression melted into amusement and he leaned forward and kissed David on the forehead.

They slept on Spot’s floor for the third night in a row, but this time Spot thrashed around in his sleep, kicking David twice before he eventually woke himself up and quietly scooted his mattress away from David’s. David pretended to be asleep, pretended not to notice.

Spot woke up with him at 4:00 AM and insisted on getting on the subway with him to the bus stop at 42nd and Times Square. David was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, but Spot looked the same way he always had: bored and wired. David grabbed the bag he packed the night before out of his room and locked it up. On the way down the hall he realized that they hadn’t cleaned up after dinner the night before and tried to go take care of it.

“Leave it,” Spot said, pushing him out the door. “I’ll take care of it.”

They didn’t kiss at the bus stop. David wasn’t sure if it was nerves, or the hour, or being out in public but they just stood apart, looking at one another.

“I feel like this is a serious goodbye,” David said.

“Only if you decide not to come back,” Spot said.

“I’m coming back,” David promised, “I still haven’t seen those bakery dumpsters you talk about all the time.”

Spot rolled his eyes. “You’re such a dick.”

David didn’t disagree. He waved when it was time to board the bus, and Spot stayed on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets until the bus was out of sight, maybe longer.

He felt loss, which was ridiculous because he had only had something with Spot for three days. Three days of something that was undefined and tentative and punctuated by mocking and bad coffee. He was coming back. But it might be different when he did.

He didn’t have the same thought about going home. He felt immense relief knowing that his parent's apartment was waiting for him and nothing would be different. When it was 6 AM in Chicago he knew his mother would be awake and he called.

“David, it’s so early!” she said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, “I’m coming home. I’m coming home Mama.”

 

* * *

 

 

To: sconlon@pulitzer.edu   
From: bdenton@pulitzer.edu   
Subject: The Semester / 12/27/16

Hello Spot

I enjoyed having you over last Thursday for dinner. As I mentioned, I will be back in town tomorrow (Wednesday 12/28) and would be happy to meet up again. We could have a social visit, or we could meet to discuss your grades this past semester. Normally I have these meetings with students during the following semester, but given that you are in town and the specifics of your situation, I believe it would be good for us to chat sooner than later. We can do both social and the meeting, and I’m happy to meet anywhere in the city.

Unsure if you got my last email about this. Please reply

Denton

 

Spot went back to his dorm and tried to go back to sleep. His mattress was still on the ground next to Davids, and it seemed silly to try to put it back up on the top bunk. So he lay on his mattress on the ground, and maybe he pulled David’s blanket on top of himself.

He was such an idiot.

Someone doesn’t hate him so he sends them a thousand miles away.

But he planned to do that. It was always the plan. Just because he and David changed the plan by actually liking each other, doesn’t mean that Spot didn’t have to stick to his plan of getting David home. Home was important to David, for some reason.

Spot looked around the dorm room full of furniture that didn’t belong to him, felt himself lying on a mattress that wasn’t his. The blankets were his. His socks were his.

Having David choose to lie next to him and sleep, that was his.

He tried to remember what he planned on doing with his break before he knew David was around. He had a shift in the mail room today, but after that time was a nothing. Maybe he’d just drink and sleep.

The email from Denton was waiting in his inbox but he could ignore it for a while. It wasn’t like Denton was going to show up at the Lodging House and demand an audience with Spot. With David gone it was harder to forget that he had that to deal with.

A 2.94 GPA for the semester. Even on probation, we would have to get an over 4.0 next semester to stay on the scholarship. Which was impossible. The confident, _I’ve survived everything up until now_ , sure part of himself kept reasoning that the scholarship had invested too much money in him to ditch him and that all 10 of the senior Roosevelters were still in school even though most of them were idiots.

The rest of him thought he was fucked.

But who cares, right? He never needed anything like stability. It was always too good to be true.

For one more semester at least, he could see where this went with David and then disappear, maybe to get a place in Brooklyn. He could almost afford it.

Spot lay in what was not self-pity until it was time to go to work. At work, he had nothing to do because no one was requesting a paper on December 27th. He emailed all his employees to check in that they’d submitted their papers then stared at the mail room wall.

His supervisor eventually sent him home early because no one on campus was mailing anything on December 27th either.

“Then why’d you have me come here?” Spot snapped.

“Hey,” his dick of a supervisor said. He was standing like he had some kind of authority with his tie-dye shirt and ponytail. “You can leave and never come back if you want.”

“Maybe I will, I don’t make shit here,” Spot said, “It’s a waste of my time.”

“You leave,” his supervisor said evenly, “And you think about if you want to come back here.”

“You firing me?” Spot bit out.

“I’m not firing you.”

Spot got up and grabbed his bag, “Whatever.” He stormed out.

Fuck everything.

He took out his phone and jotted off a quick text to David _sick of my stupid work study job it’s a waste of time i don’t even know why i work there._ He stopped typing and deleted the message. David was on the bus to see his family, he didn’t care what Spot had to say. He was probably just thinking about his family.

That night he was walking around with his headphones on when a flurry of texts came into his phone.

_Okay I still don’t have data and cellular is bad_

_I don’t know if these are going to send_

_I have a seat to myself! Wow! Wow! So great!_

_Did you put the bagels in my bag? I didn’t put the bagels in my bag. Thank you for putting the bagels in my bag._

_Are you at work?_

_Should I stop texting you?_

_I don’t think any of these are sending._

_Let me know if you get any of these._

_Ohio is nothing_

_I’m not sure that anyone lives here_

_What are you doing? Are you bored without me?_

Spot stared at his phone as it buzzed in his gloved hand relentlessly while all the messages loaded. There was a pause then another message came in.

_Oh I think they all sent!_

Spot felt his face warming as he stood on the street corner. He thought that David would be done thinking about him because he was going to se his family. Why wouldn’t he? His family was the most important thing to David, and Spot was just the guy he hung out with because no one else was around.

Another message came through.

_Seriously, how are you?_

Spot took off his glove and jotted off a quick reply: _Very flattered by all your messages. Probably better than you because I’m not in some tiny bus seat driving through Ohio._

David texted back right away, _At least we’re not from Ohio._

_At least._

David was afraid that he would sleep through the Chicago stop, so he stayed up all night. Spot stayed up with him.

 _You can go to sleep you know,_ David said, _I won’t be heartbroken._

 _Stop lying,_ Spot wrote, _I’m the only thing keeping you alive right now._

David couldn’t send pictures of the prairies and small towns he was seeing, so he described them in detail to Spot, using the writing methods that he learned in Composition I to fill the text.

_Just went over the river. I don’t know which river. I don’t think the people who live here know which river it is. There are three RVs parked near the bank and they look like they’ve been there since the 70’s by graffiti alone. If anyone lives there they either have come to accept the graffiti as part of their home or are too world beaten to find a cloth and clean it up. I hope they aren’t either, I hope they did it themselves to tell assholes like me on the bus that this is their home and they can make it whatever they want._

Spot just replied, _Fuck._

Spot did send pictures of what he was doing, the food he was eating and the bookstore that he wandered into at 3 in the morning. Between it all Jack tried to FaceTime him, and David ignored the call.

He got emotional when he saw the Chicago skyline approaching. He didn’t think he would, he was known to call Chicago an ugly city, but seeing the Sears Tower in the distance made his heart skip.

He’d been on the phone with his parents on and off the entire bus ride, and they reluctantly agreed to allow David to take the el home. The bus was coming in at 5 AM and no one would be awake except Sarah, who needed the car to get to work in the suburbs.

He texted Spot when he got on the el, but he suspected that Spot had fallen asleep. He just packed a backpack, he still had clothes at home, so he was inconspicuous in his blue coat on the nearly empty el train car. As he got closer to his neighborhood his heart beat harder. He passed the barber where his father used to get his hair cut, and the Thai restaurant where Sarah threw her own sixteenth birthday. The el stop near his house was as familiar as his own apartment. From there he could have walked home with his eyes closed. He was so tired that he nearly did.

His apartment was a five-story walkup situated above a street of retail vendors patronized exclusively by those who lived in the neighborhood. He walked up to his third-floor apartment, taking in the smell of snow and dust. The key to his apartment was still on his key ring so he let himself in.

For a fraction of a second, he thought he had the wrong apartment. Just for barely a glance of a moment, he looked around at the space and thought “I can’t have lived here.”

The kitchen table was barely a foot from the entryway, leaving only enough room to walk sideways into the kitchen which had less counter space than the kitchen in the common room at the lodging house. There were pots and pans precariously balanced on the stovetop because there was no room for them in the cabinets. He carefully walked through the kitchen, mindful to make no noise, because across the small room his parents were asleep in the double bed by the windows. He couldn’t see them in the dark, but he knew they were there.

Carefully, he walked around piles of Sarah’s fiber arts supplies and Les’s soccer gear and made his way to the bedroom. The streetlights reflection on the snow below lit up the room through the lace curtains. The three beds took over the bedroom, and they all kept their clothes in plastic bins under the bed, but it was always a fight to keep such a small space occupied by three people clean. Inside Les was sprawled out upside down on the bed, singing under his breath. Sarah’s bed was empty but made. David’s bed was covered in a laundry basket, a pile of books, assorted junk that they always had a hard time finding a place for. That place had become David’s bed.

Everyone was asleep, so he could be too. David toed off his boots and lay down and fell asleep.

He was home.

 

* * *

 

 

Spot woke up early when he felt his phone buzzing against his ear. He still hadn’t bothered to put his mattress back on his bed or return David’s bed to his own room. He barely sat up and checked his phone.

_Hi Spot! Its Boots. Aunt Elane said that she is coming dontown to go to a bookstore so OK I can hang out with you if you are not working but if you are working I can’t because you are busy. Are you busy?_

He grinned. Okay, so he was exhausted from staying up all night with David—which was worth it—but seeing Boots three times in the space of a week? It hadn’t happened since he went to juvie, and that was two years ago. He immediately replied yes, obviously yes, and then Aunt Elane called him almost right away.

“It’s still too cold to go gallivanting around the city,” she said, “I am coming to your dorm. If it is acceptable, you two can stay there.”

“Yeah yeah,” Spot said, looking around his trashed room and thinking about the mess that was still in the living room. And all the booze he had out, “It’s a real palace here, you’ll love it.”

Once he got off the phone, he ran down the hall and started cleaning. By the time Aunt Elane was calling him that she was downstairs his room was back to pristine, mattresses were where they belonged, and all his booze was in David’s room.

Boots was thrilled to be in a dorm, he whistled appreciatively at the TV in Spot’s room and climbed up the bunk bed and showed no sign of coming down. Aunt Elane looked around at the nice couch and the fridge, and Spot could see her wheels turning.

“My roommate’s fancy,” Spot said.

“Isaiah,” Aunt Elane said, “If you keep working hard, in a few years you’ll be able to come to a school like this too.”

Spot was a little startled, but he supposed it was true that Boots would be in high school next year. Maybe he’d apply for the Roosevelt Scholarship too. He certainly had the life experience for it.

“You can go somewhere better than this, Boots,” Spot said, “We don’t even got air conditioning.”

Aunt Elane ignored him. “I’ll be back in four hours. You may watch television, but Isaiah needs to work on his reading for at least part of the time.”

No way they were doing that, “Yeah, definitely,” Spot said. He was a little thrilled at being trusted to have Boots in the Lodging House, the chance to show him his life.

Aunt Elane let herself out and once the door closed Spot climbed up and hooked his arms over the edge of the bunk bed.

“You ever slid on a waxed floor?”

 

Mama woke him up at 11. She smiled brightly at him. “I couldn’t wait anymore,” she said, “I know you must be tired, but we only have three days with you and I couldn’t miss another second.”

Tears welled in David’s eyes and he sat up and hugged his mother tight. A whole extra wave of missing her washed over him, like he hadn’t allowed himself to feel how much he longed to see her until he actually could.

“I missed you,” he said into her shoulder.

“We missed you too,” she said, smoothing his hair, “Come, I’ve made lunch.”

Dad was in the living room in his chair, reading Marx—of course. He grinned when he saw David, “My son, the college boy!” he said. David leaned down and hugged him. Dad hugged him back with his good arm, holding tight to his hoodie.

Les was sitting on Mom and Dad’s bed, playing with his old Nintendo. He jumped up when he saw David and ran over and hugged him too.

The hugging and seeing everyone and seeing the living room lit up with daylight was too much, and David found himself sitting at the kitchen table wiping tears from his face.

Spot would make fun of him so hard if he saw this.

“Oh David,” Mama said, “Are you sad? Why are you, sad sweetheart?”

“I’m not,” David said. He could smell the grilled cheese mama was making, and see the menorah behind her. “I’m happy. I’m just happy to be here.”

Lunch was jovial, Les told them stories about school, stories that he said were too complicated to tell over the phone. David was glad to hear he still had a solid group of friends, and he didn’t seem as lonely as David worried he would be. Dad was quiet, he just smiled at David as they ate their sandwich halves.

When no one was looking—which was difficult to discern with four people in one room, David checked the fridge and cabinets. They were low on food. There was pasta and three eggs, but not much else. He had gotten spoiled with the dining hall, knowing that food would always be there no matter how many hours he worked that week. Over break, he almost remembered what it was like to live like this, but with Spot buying food and encouraging him to eat he had nearly forgotten.

Well, he couldn’t really forget, not with it standing in front of his face like it was now. He’d have to fix it.

Les decided to come with David to the grocery store. They took their black rolly cart, even though David was sure they wouldn’t buy enough food to fill it up. He has $109.34 in his account, and he needed enough money to get through his last week back at Manhattan before the winter break ended.

“So,” Les said, “You like college?”

“Yeah,” David lied, “ I love it. You know, it’s like my job is to learn. Pulitzer has a beautiful library, and Manhattan is really something special.”

Les nodded. He had his hands in his pockets and he was studiously ignoring the kid bait food like Cheetos and chips. “There’s lots of colleges here,” he said.

“I didn’t get a scholarship to any of them,” David said, “You know, if I had I would have stayed but I couldn’t turn down the scholarship. You could get it too, you know. When it’s time for you to go to college.”

“I’m not going to college,” Les said.

David tamped down his frustration. “You never know, don’t turn it down.”

“Sarah didn’t go to college, and now she has a lot of money.”

Sarah made, like, nine dollars an hour to put all her energy and brainpower into Walgreens. David wasn’t sure if she’d touched a modem since she graduated high school. She should have been the one to go to college, not David.

“Are you guys doing okay?” David asked. He knew it was an unfair question for a twelve-year-old, but Les wouldn’t lie. “Money wise?”

Les shrugged. “It doesn't seem any different. Mama was able to buy me a soccer jersey, so it must be okay.”

Classic kid logic. “Okay,” David said, pulling boxes of pasta off the shelf. “Good. I worry sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Les said confidently, “We’ll always figure a way out.”

David didn’t miss that he wasn’t part of that “us.”

 

* * *

 

His arm fucking hurt.

He could practically hear David in his head saying _“I told you so.”_

So he lost control a little bit. So he was sliding on the floor in his sock feet and he tumbled into the radiator and banged his arm on it. So what.

“That don’t look so good Spot,” Boots said.

Spot pulled his flannel sleeve down to cover his arm, gritting his teeth at the pain doing so caused. “It’s just a bruise,” he insisted.

“It don’t look like a bruise,” Boots said, “I should call Aunt Elane.”

“No don’t do that,” Spot insisted. He carefully sat back against the hallway wall, trying not to move his arm, “It’ll be fine, she won’t be able to do nothing.”

But Boots already had his cell phone out and Spot closed his eyes resigned as he said, “Spot fell, I think he broke his arm! You gotta come!”

If Aunt Elane didn’t already hate him, she would now.

Fuck.


	8. Grown Ups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a medical professional, I'm just a girl with access to google

 “You can leave,” Spot said, “I’m fine.”

Aunt Elane sent Boots home on the subway then ordered an Uber to take them to the nearest hospital. An _Uber._ Spot didn’t even know she knew what Uber was.

At the check-in desk, Aunt Elane rattled off his information—Spot Conlon, eighteen years old, no insurance, no allergies—with confidence. When they asked what her relation was, she said, “I’m his aunt.” Spot almost laughed at the obvious lie.

The nurse looked between them, taking in a stringy white kid and regal, black, Aunt Elane, like she was trying to do the math. “I didn’t say I was his mother,” Aunt Elane snapped, and the nurse startled then directed them to the waiting room.

Where they’d been sitting for two hours.

Aunt Elane offered him a Tylenol from her giant old lady purse which Spot dry swallowed. It didn’t help. She didn’t say a word to him.

For two hours.

So Spot didn’t say a word back.

Spot was no stranger to hospital waiting rooms, or being in pain that he couldn’t do anything about. Being used to something didn’t make it easy. He was furious with himself for falling like an idiot, with his bones for being weak, and with Aunt Elane for making him come to a hospital. He wasn’t angry with Boots, but he wished he hadn’t called her, then blathered on about what was happening when Spot fell. Now he’d never be allowed to see Boots again.

It was just as well he couldn’t talk. If he could he’d be spitting fire.

Finally, a nurse came out and called them back to the room. Aunt Elane came back without asking for permission, and Spot didn’t have the energy to fight her off. The nurse asked Spot three times what happened, and Spot told the whole embarrassing truth because Aunt Elane already knew, so fuck it.

“I was running down a hall, and then I slid on the floor and then I lost my balance and hit my arm on the radiator,” he droned.

“You slid on purpose?” the nurse asked. Spot could feel Aunt Elane’s hawk eyes on him.

“Yes,” he ground out.

The nurse made a note on his chart. She offered him something for the pain. Spot accepted the hell out of that.

They took an x-ray, which was a familiar exercise. It was still painful as hell when they moved his arm around. Finally, he was back in the little vestibule with a still silent Aunt Elane and a new doctor who stuck the x-ray on a light board.

“You’ve broken this arm before,” he said, pointing at a line on his bone. Spot pointedly did not think about how that one happened.

“Yep,” Spot agreed.

“We don’t have a record of it.”

“Brooklyn,” Spot said shortly. The meds they gave him didn’t make much of a difference, he was still in pain. Not that he was about to complain about it.

“It’s a simple fracture,” the doctor said, “Only your unla is fractured, and we can cast it without realignment or surgery.”

Spot’s stomach got cold at the realization that he may have had to have surgery. The cost of just sitting in the waiting room was probably more than he had in his bank account, not to mention the x-rays and this genius of a doctors expert advice.

“We’ll put in in a splint and sling for the swelling, and you can come back tomorrow to get a cast.”

Tomorrow? No way he was setting foot in this place again. “Can’t I just get a cast now?”

“Spot,” Aunt Elane said, speaking for the first time in hours. “Listen to the doctor.”

The doctor smiled indulgently. Like this was a picnic and Spot was throwing a tantrum. “We’ll make an appointment on your way out, so you won’t have to go through the emergency room.”

“I don’t have a million dollars,” Spot snapped.

“We have assistance programs,” the doctor said easily, “You need a cast on this arm, there could be problems if you don’t.”

“He’ll get his cast on,” Aunt Elane said, “I’ll make sure of it.”

 

* * *

 

Mama kissed him on the cheek him when he came home with the groceries, but she didn’t say a word about it as he quietly put them away. There was only room for one person in the kitchen, so he wasn’t surprised when no one offered to help. Dad was asleep in the bed, so they were quiet.

“Mama,” Les said, “I told my friend I would go to his house today for dinner.”

“No honey,” Mama said, “Sarah will be home any minute, and David is only home for a few days.”

“I already made the plan!” Les whined, “It’s not my fault David didn’t tell us until the last minute.”

“Call your friend on David’s cell phone,” Mama said gently, “Tell him your brother is home from college, and you will come over when he leaves.”

Les grumpily took David’s cell phone and took it into the bedroom, like the conversation was so private none of them could be around. David felt separation anxiety from his phone the moment it was out of sight. What if Spot finally answered his texts? He’d been texting him for hours with no response, and he was starting to get worried that Spot was getting sick of him.

Sarah came in the apartment quietly and found David sitting at the dining room table and gave him a hug, “You’re so dramatic,” she said, “Coming home with a days notice. If you’d told us a little in advance I could have gotten off work.”

“The bus promotion was a flash deal,” David lied, “I had to buy a ticket that left within a day of buying to get the deal.”

Sarah hummed noncommittally, “Aren’t we lucky you got one of those deals then? We missed you here.”

Les and Mama made pasta for dinner and seasoned it with garlic powder and salt and pepper. It was David’s favorite. At least, it was his favorite dish that they regularly made at home. Mama woke Dad up for dinner During dinner Sarah told a story about a customer who came and browsed the aisles for six hours then left without buying anything.

“I swear,” she said, “We were all taking bets why he was there. My point of view was that he was dared, you know, by his friends or something to shoplift but he couldn’t work up the nerve. So he just walked around, just _trying_ to bring it into himself to take something, but the longer he was there the more conspicuous he was. But he couldn’t go out and let down his friends, so he stayed.”

“You have such an imagination,” Dad said, “Though someone behaving so peculiarly could elicit any number of stories.”

“Maybe they were homeless,” David said, “It’s twenty degrees out. Maybe they were trying to keep warm.”

Sarah shook her head and twirled her fork in the pasta. “No, he didn’t look homeless.”

“I don’t think there’s a look,” David said.

Sarah shrugged, “Maybe,” she allowed, “I like my story better.”

“It’s nicer,” David said.

They had a TV now, a twenty-four inch flat screen that Sarah bought on Black Friday and after dinner, Mama suggested that they gather around it on the kitchen chairs and watch a DVD from the library.

David felt restless. The apartment was so small. In his memories, there were more places to sit, most places to put his hands. His mom had chosen Jaws, a family favorite, but David couldn’t even sit through the opening credits. Their apartment didn’t even have a couch. How did he never notice that they didn’t have a couch?

“I’m going to pick up a toothbrush,” David said suddenly, “I forgot to pack mine.”

He had no idea if that was true, but apparently, he was a liar now. When he was in high school he made speeches for Speech and Debate about the virtue of honesty and how society depended on it. He won awards for it. Now he lied left and right just to get through the day.

He stood up from the kitchen chair. Mom paused the movie and turned towards him.

“David you can just use your finger,” she said, “It’s late and it’s cold.”

“Never mind Ester,” Dad said, “I’ll go with him.”

“Oh,” David said. His dad was getting up slowly from the bed and reaching for his jacket. “Are you sure? It’s late.”

“We could use some father son time,” Dad said.

David’s stomach sank, thinking of his Latin American history paper. “Yeah,” he said casually, “we could.”

 

* * *

 

 

Being touched by a stranger to get his brace on was totally awesome, so was having his arm moved around and lifted into a sling—a real fun time. At least they gave him a bag of fancy Tylenol and advice not to drink which Spot did not plan at all on following. He was going back to the Lodging House and getting as drunk as possible then passing out so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain anymore. By the time he was released from the hospital—with an appointment to get a cast that he didn’t plan on keeping—it was nine at night.

He couldn’t put his coat on with the sling, so he put one arm through the sleeve and let the right side of his coat hang in front of his body. At least it wasn’t snowing. He took out his phone and pulled up directions back to the Lodging House.

“You’re coming home with me,” Aunt Elane said, “Come, I know the subway stop we’re taking.”

“No way,” Spot said. He was confused, but it came out angry. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Spot,” Aunt Elane said, “You are in pain, you are injured and you have not eaten dinner.”

Spot shook his bag of pills at her. “I can fix all those things by myself.”

“You are not going home alone,” Aunt Elane said, planting herself in front of him, “You are injured. Now. You can come home, I will make you dinner and you will be able to see Boots. Don’t you want to see him?”

Spots anger dissolved into confusion. He knew that Aunt Elane would never let him around Boots now. He’d have to kidnap Boots or something, and it would be all his own fault for just wanting to do something fun with him.

“I’m allowed to see Boots?” he said quietly.

Aunt Elane sighed. “Yes. You are allowed. Now follow me.”

Walking into Aunt Elane’s apartment, a series of emotions hit Spot all at once.

He didn’t know what they were, but he knew they hurt, and they brought up things that he didn’t want to think about.

Aunt Elane said that Boots had been told to go to a church friend’s apartment a few blocks away, and she was going to call him and tell him to walk home.

Spot sat down on the couch. He thought of his shoes sitting in the hall, waiting to be stolen by anyone who happened by. He thought of his room on the Lodging House that didn’t belong to him, and was keenly aware that he hadn’t had the chance to lock his door before being swept away by Aunt Elane.

Aunt Elane came in and held out a glass of water for him. Spot stared at her. The image brought back a flashbulb memory of a new foster mother doing the same thing the last time he’d broken this arm. But that cup was a kid cup with cookie monster on it and he wasn’t able to swallow the pills for the pain, so he knocked over the water glass and cussed at the foster mother when she yelled at him.

He took the glass and furiously stomped out the memory. He took the pills Aunt Elane offered him and swallowed them easily.

He wasn’t in a foster home.

He had somewhere to live in the East Village.

It had heat and a shower and it was nearly his and he was only here in this apartment to make some old lady feel better.

Boots wanted to hear all about the hospital when he got home, like he’d never seen the inside of an emergency room. It was like he thought it was some kind of adventure. Spot wasn’t in the mood to join him. Luckily Aunt Elane insisted it was too late for any such tomfoolery and Boots must go to bed.

It might be the last time he saw Boots, but he was _tired._

Spot tried to wash his face with one hand, and brushed his teeth with a toothbrush that Aunt Elane provided still in it’s wrapping—which did not help him differentiate this from a new foster home in his pain-addled mind.

When he came out of the bathroom Aunt Elane was waiting for him in her armchair.

“I want to talk to you,” she said.

“You sure waited six hours to say that,” Spot said.

“I was waiting until we were alone,” she said.

Great. Now what? Was the inviting him to stay the night just a ruse so she could get him isolated them kick him out or throw the book at him or tell him he was never allowed around “Isaiah” again? Spot didn’t sit down; he stayed standing behind the couch and waited.

“Would you like to sit?” Aunt Elane said.

“I prefer to stand,” Spot said, gesturing to his arm in a sling, “Keeps the pressure off.”

Aunt Elane nodded shortly. “What you did today was reckless and irresponsible. It showed a disregard for your own wellbeing that alarms me.”

“For Boot’s well being,” Spot corrected. “You’re worried about Boots. I’m not allowed to see him anymore, right? That’s what you’re going to say. I’m too dangerous and reckless to be around him. Even though I was around him nonstop for three years and he survived that just fine.”

Aunt Elane shook her head, “When they told me about Isaiah I never imagined I’d be sharing custody with a teenager.”

Spot’s blood boiled, “I’m eighteen now you know, I could fight for custody.”

Aunt Elane didn’t laugh at him, which Spot had to admit was generous. He lived in a dorm, he was minimally employed, and his only connection to Boots as far as the courts cared was that when Spot was arrested for assault, he told the policeman there was a kid in a broken down car that they should find. In his mind, it was dangerous as hell, and risking a lot because he didn’t know that Boots had some aunt that would save the day. He was terrified for weeks because he didn’t know what happened to Boots until Aunt Elane sent him a letter in juvie.

“Isaiah,” Aunt Elane slowly, “Is doing remarkably well. He can read and write nearly at grade level. He is in therapy. He trusts me, and he trusts you. You _are_ still allowed to see him. You do not want to disturb that. So you are not going to fight for custody.”

He wasn’t.

“Now,” Aunt Elane continued, “Isaiah should not have been sliding either, but he is fourteen and he was influenced by someone he looks up to. You, on the other hand, are eighteen and you independently made the choice to do something dangerous.”

Spot thought of the buildings he’d broken into, the fights that he’d gotten out the other side of. The things that he had done so that Boots would be safe and had something to eat. All of it eons more dangerous than _sliding on a dorm room floor._

“That wasn’t dangerous,” Spot said, instead of spitting at her that he had faced more danger just to keep Boots alive than she could ever imagine. More than she ever had. “That was a game.”

Aunt Elane shook her head. “I have no interest in arguing whether it was dangerous or not. What concerns me is that when I came, you had no intention of going to the hospital.”

Spot didn’t have anything to say to that. Aunt Elane knew without him telling her that he didn’t have health insurance, why would he go to a hospital? As it was he was waiting for thousands in medical bills he couldn’t pay, especially after he had to leave Pulitzer.

He wished he was in the dorms, with David. Being in someone’s home always felt intrusive to Spot, and he felt more at ease in the Lodging House which was like a group home that didn’t fucking suck. He should have fought harder to be allowed to go home. He could still leave, Aunt Elane was in no shape to tackle him.

“Your wellbeing matters,” Aunt Elane said, “When you get hurt, that it something that needs to be addressed. So we are going tomorrow to get a cast on, and you are going to follow any instructions the doctor gives you, and when it’s time I’m coming with you to get the cast off.”

Spot was frozen where he stood.

“You don’t even like me,” he said.

Aunt Elane didn’t disagree. “You deserve to be healthy and safe,” she said.

“I have no use for ‘deserve,’” Spot snarled.

“Then make one,” Aunt Elane demanded. “You have a good set up at the university. Use this time to figure out what you want, and get it.”

What he wanted? That was an elusive concept, something that he didn’t even have a track for in his mind. What he wanted was to have somewhere to sleep and food to eat and he couldn’t think past a few weeks at a time. When he thought of the future, it was like there was a brick wall in his mind that said _No. No. Fuck you that’s not for you so stop dreaming._ The house in Brooklyn he dreamed of was nothing but a dream, something he had no idea how to get except to keep making money. If he lived long enough, he might get it.

“They’re going to kick me out,” Spot confessed. “My grades—they’ll give me another semester but then I’m gone.”

Aunt Elane actually looked pained. She looked down at her lap then back up at Spot. “Make sure that’s true before you act on it,” she said.

“It is,” Spot said.

“Make sure,” Aunt Elane repeated. “And don’t scare me like this again.”

 

* * *

 

 

David drove. Dad was able to drive, but it was easier for him not to. And David missed driving. He hadn’t been in a car since getting to New York, and driving to the neighborhood Walgreens was like working a well-worn track in his brain.

When he got to the Walgreens parking lot Dad stopped him from getting out of the car.

“Let’s just talk David. We haven’t gotten to talk since you left.”

David sat back, but he still undid his seatbelt. “We talk on the phone all the time.”

“The phone,” Dad said waving his hand, “I am no good on the phone. I need to see and hear and touch.” He put his hand on David’s shoulder. “I need to understand what’s going on in your life by seeing you and talking.”

“Okay,” David said, “We’re talking now.”

“You almost didn’t come home,” Dad said.

“I know,” David said, “The money I—I’m just lucky that sale came along.”

“We didn’t realize how hard it would be for you to be gone,” Dad said, “It’s like something is missing, everywhere I look you’re not there.”

“I’m here now,” David said, his voice quiet.

“You’re different,” Dad said, “Less sure. I worry.”

David swallowed. How was it that his parents could always tell when something was wrong? “College was—is—harder than I expected. I—I wasn’t ready.”

Dad nodded. “I suppose, we couldn’t prepare you. We didn’t know what was coming any more than you did.”

“That’s not it,” David said, even as he thought of the mostly unnecessary kitchenware his parents had sent him with, and the ration of coupons to their Chicago local grocery store. “It was my school, I never wrote anything more than a five-paragraph essay then suddenly I’m supposed to write eight-page papers every few weeks for five classes. It was hard. I felt like I was in the dark, and everyone else knew what they were doing.”

“But you did very well,” Dad said, “Your mother told me you mostly A’s in your classes.”

“I got two B’s,” David said.

Dad laughed. “You sound miserable about it. Two B’s is nothing to be ashamed of.”

His Latin American History paper had been off his mind for most of the past few days, ever since he began really spending time with Spot. Spot was so confused as to why he felt bad about turning in a plagiarized paper, so it was easy for David to believe that it was somehow okay. But home with his parents he was reminded of how he was raised, and it wasn’t to lie or cheat.

“Dad,” he said, “I did something wrong.”

Dad looked over to him, “David, whatever it is we can work it out.”

For the third time that day tears welled up in David’s eyes and he wiped them away furiously. In stalling sentences he explained to Dad how overwhelmed he got at the end of the semester, how even taking a break to eat felt impossible and how terrified he was to not reach the GPA he needed. He explained realizing it was impossible to write his Latin American History paper.

“So I went to his website,” he said, fighting to keep his voice on track, “And I paid…I paid a lot of money for someone else to write the paper for me.”

Dad was silent. David thought of all the moral lessons his father told him growing up with one ultimate lesson: Never lie. No matter what, never lie because the truth will catch up with you and the pain will be double.

“David,” Dad finally said, “You know what you did is wrong.”

“I know,” David said. He felt pain like he did the moment he his submit on the Quick Papers website. For a moment he felt a flash of blame toward Spot for making the business in the first place, but he reasoned it away quickly. He never told David to use the service. That was his responsibility.

“You’re an adult now,” Dad said, “I won’t tell you what to do. You need to figure out for yourself how to make this right.”

Snow was falling on the dashboard, and David watched a young couple leave the Walgreens with cartons of beer in their hands. They probably had nothing like this on their minds. He was deeply envious of them. While he felt pain at admitting what he had done, at the same time he felt relief. This confession was different from when he told Spot. This was real, it would have consequences.

 David reached for his father hand, “No,” he begged, “Just tell me what to do. Do I turn myself in? Because I can’t, I could get kicked out of the university. You have no idea what it was like for me ”

Dad shook his head. “David,” he said, “You know that you have to make this right. It is your job to figure out what that looks like.”

“Are you going to tell Mama?” he asked.

“No,” Dad said definitely, “If you want to keep this to yourself, that is your business. David, I will say it again. You’re an adult now.”

David rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t want to be an adult right now.”

Dad laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “My boy, I’m afraid that’s part of it.”


	9. First

David celebrated New Years on a moving bus, somewhere in Pennsylvania. The driver made an announcement over the intercom at midnight in a droning voice “Hello bus #224, it is now January 1st, 2017. Happy new year.” The bus, full of people who had been traveling for hours and were willing to be on a bus on New Year's Eve, cheered dimly. David shot off texts to his family and Spot and Jack.

Only Jack replied right away, with a photo of him with some people David didn’t know.

Spot replied hours later with a thumbs up emoticon.

The bus dropped David off at the same spot he boarded it in Midtown. He was able to see Spot a block away, standing at the transit stop with his green coat and black boots. He waved. Spot didn’t wave back.

David hurried to get off the bus. Five days away from New York—two of which were spent on a small cramped bus—was long enough for him to miss the city. His parents sent him home with a duffle bag full of blankets and bread and a box of cake mix that he intended on baking that night. He retrieved the bag from the overhead compartment and got off the bus.

Spot didn’t hug him when he approached, but he smiled and waved with his left hand. David hesitated before hugging him because something looked off.

Spot’s right arm wasn’t through his jacket sleeve, it was hanging inside his coat, and acting on a suspicion David pulled back his coat to reveal that Spot’s flannel was covering a black cast.

“What the fuck?” David cried.

“It’s not a big deal,” Spot said quickly.

“When did this happen?” David asked, his voice high.

Spot hesitated. “Wednesday.”

It was Sunday. “Wednesday,” David practically shrieked, “That day that you didn’t answer any of my texts, then hit me on Thursday morning with a ‘text much?’”

“Yep,” Spot said, completely unphased.

They were on a busy street corner and David did not want to be there anymore, but he needed answers. After Wednesday he and Spot had been texting consistently with updates of what they were doing and bad jokes. Spot sent pictures of the dorm, of the snow, of the food he was eating. David was convinced that if he only talked to Spot in photo form, he would learn a lot more than he did by talking.

Except Spot never took a picture of his broken arm.

“So, you didn’t think to tell me that you butchered yourself?”

Spot rolled his eyes. “It’s a minor fracture. It barely hurt.”

“How,” David sputtered, “how did it happen?”

Spot explained.

It happened the stupidest way possible.

“You slid around without me?” David asked.

“With Boots,” Spot corrected.

“That’s _worse,_ ” David said.

“Come on,” Spot said, “Let’s catch the train and go home.”

“We’re still going to talk about this,” David insisted, “I can’t believe you got hurt and didn’t tell me.”

“Yeah yeah,” Spot said, “Since I’m the one who spits my feelings all the time. It’s shocking.”

They started walking to the subway stop. “This isn’t about feelings, this is basic information. ‘Hi David. It’s me Spot. I fractured my—’”

“Ulna.”

“—ulna sliding around like a doofus and now I have a cast.’ See? Easy. You just write it. That’s it.”

Spot didn’t respond, and he was quiet on the train ride back to the lodging house. David filled the time telling stories about his time at home. He had spent most of it in his family’s apartment, which felt smaller every day he spent in it. He caught up with a few Debate Team friends and visited Lake Michigan like it was an old friend. Spot didn’t say much, but David could tell he was listening.

Finally, when they got to the Lodging House hallway he cracked. “I’m sorry I called you a doofus.”

Spot made a face, “You think I’m upset because you called me a doofus?”

So he was upset. “I guess?”

Spot shook his head, “I’m just tired. I stayed up all night texting with this dude who is totally in love with me.”

David’s face warmed. “I’m not—I _like_ you.”

With a smile on his face, Spot took the duffle bag out of David’s hand and sidled up to him. “You have a crush on me,” he said mockingly, his hips up against David. David could feel Spot’s cast against his leg, and Spot’s hand weaving into his hair.

“Yeah,” David said, “I do.”

Spot leaned in and kissed him. After five days of being unsure if they would continue, or if David had just made up what happened, the kiss was electrifying. David shook his gloves off his hands and brought them around Spots’ back, feeling the detailed stitching of the coat and Spot’s body through the fabric.  

In the short time they’d been kissing Spot had gotten more confident. He held tight to David and walked backward toward’s David’s room. He kissed him quick twice before extracting himself at the bedroom door. David let them in.

“Why is all your alcohol in here?” was David’s first question upon seeing bottles neatly lined up on his dresser.

“You’re the one who wants me breaking into everyone’s room willy-nilly,” Spot said, then after a pause, “Aunt Elane came and I didn’t want her finding them.”

“Oh,” David said, “That’s fine.”

“Gee thanks.”

His bed was back too, and it was made. David walked up to it and sat down. His coat and backpack were still on and his duffel bag was on the ground in the hallways. Spot shrugged his coat off and sat down, giving David a good look at the black cast for the first time. His red flannel shirt had ridden up some, revealing that it only went up his forearm, and the numbers _5-24-1883_ were written on the edge near his elbow in gold sharpie.

David held his hand out for the cast, and after a moment Spot moved his arm into his hand. It was heavier than he expected. He ran his fingers over the numbers that were written on the black wrapping.

“Are you right handed?” he asked.

“Yep,” Spot said. “I guess I won’t be playing tennis anytime soon.”

“What’s this?” David asked, tracing the numbers.

“Numbers,” Spot said in a short tone of voice that told David he wasn’t getting any more. Not right now anyway. He pulled his cast away from David and leaned in for another kiss. They carried on for some time, getting deeper than they had before and by David eventually have to come up for air, Spot’s hand was inside the bottom of David’s hoodie, feeling his skin.

David pulled away and Spot did too. “Shit,” Spot said, “Did you not want that? Was that not okay?”

“That was okay,” David laughed, “I’m just glad we’re still—that the trip didn’t stop this.”

Spot nodded, and David was surprised that he was admitting he had the same fears.

He’d been worried that Spot’s feelings had changed, but now he worried that Spot wouldn’t support the decision he made about his paper. Not that he knew what that was. Admitting what he had done to his father had brought pain in the beginning, but now he had some sense of control. Dad didn’t tell him he had to turn himself in, which was no what he expected. He just said he had to make it right. And David had to figure out what that was.

His thoughts were cut off when Spot’s hand moved upward inside his shirt, and they were kissing again like people who were precious to one another.

 

* * *

 

 

Kissing was exhausting and energizing at the same time. They settled on the bed with Spot’s head on David’s shoulder like a romance novel cover, and David’s left leg hooked over his lap. By the time he and David ran out of steam, Spot was ready to fall asleep on David’s mattress, or take a run around the block just to kill the nervous energy in his legs.

He settled on something in between.

“Do you want food?” he asked. He hadn’t gotten food in a little while, and David ate meals at normal intervals.

“Can’t” David said. He took out his phone and groaned. “I have to go to work in an hour”

“We can get something on the street then,” Spot said.

David shook his head, “I’m low on cash. I have a granola bar somewhere in here I can grab. You up for pasta bake again?”

Well shit. Spot officially didn’t owe David anymore, so he couldn’t buy him food but he wanted him to eat more than a granola bar. Maybe he’d have to fuck up David’s life a little again so he owed him and had an excuse to buy food for him. He didn’t have any food in his room that he could offer—that was allowed, he decided. He could offer David his own food.

“Okay,” Spot said, “I can pick up some of that Racetrack cheese at the store.”

David ran his hand over Spot’s head. “Yeah? That would be awesome.”

The weird thing was that they didn’t even have a reason to be touching each other like this. He wondered if David knew that he’d never let anyone touch anyone like this in his entire life. He wondered why he was letting him.

“That guy you dated in high school,” Spot said, “Did you do this with him?”

“What, cuddle?” David said.

“No,” Spot said. They weren’t cuddling. “This.”

“Um, no,” David said. He stroked his fingers through Spot’s hair, “We didn’t really have anywhere to do it. My apartment wasn’t an option, and his dad didn’t know about us.”

“Did your parents?”

“Know about me and Declan?” Declan. Fuck Declan. “Yeah,” David continued, “They knew. They were worried that I was too busy, but they let us use the car sometimes and got to know Declan.”

Spot remembered that less than a week ago David invited him back to Chicago with him. He didn’t give too much thought to it considering he would never ever go there. But when he thought about it, at odd moments between texts that week, he assumed he’d be introduced as David’s friend and they’d keep their hands to themselves the whole time. Because they weren’t boyfriends, and most of Spot could reason that they were barely friends.

They were something though.

“So they’re cool with you being gay?” Spot said.

“Yes,” David said, “They…” he trailed off.

“Love you,” Spot said, “right.”

“Yeah,” David said. Spot sat up and scooted David’s leg off his lap so the only part of them that was touching was their legs. David took the hint and scooted back, so he was facing Spot on the bed. “Have you ever told anyone that you were gay?” David asked.

Who? His social worker? His parole officer? The lady who gave out the bread at the church on Thursday? Outing himself in juvie or a group home was a death wish, and even as a kid, he knew he had to keep it a careful secret. But just on this floor in the Lodging House, half the guys seemed to be gay and had no problem yelling come-ons down the hall, or making out with their doors open.

Racetrack once remarked that one of the secret criteria for a Rooseveleter must be being gay. When he said that Spot just said, “You think I’m gay?”

Racetrack raised his hand in a “don’t look at me” way and said, “Whatever man, I don’t give a shit who does it for you.”

He didn’t tell Race.

“Not really,” Spot said.

David furrowed his brow, “Wait, seriously? I’m the only person you’re out to?”

“Shut up.”

“Practically everyone here is gay,” David said, “No one would care.”

“Shut up,” Spot repeated.

David finally took off his coat—he must have been hot wearing it the whole time—and threw it on the floor. “So when people get back, what, are we going to just sneak around?”

Spot felt panic and some competing light emotion at the same time. He didn’t know what it was. “You still want to do this when everyone gets back?”

The Lodging House was opening back up on Friday, in five days. In Spot's head there was a countdown until the first student stepped foot on the floor, then it would be over. 

David’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Yeah,” he said like it was obvious, “Did you think I was just in this because no ones around and I was bored?”

Yes.

“No,” Spot said.

“Okay,” David said, “So barring some disaster, we’re still going to be hanging out when everyone gets back. Do you want it to be a secret?”

The idea of people knowing he was gay had always been so threatening, that even being asked if he wanted to be out made him want to push David away and go back to ignoring him. It was less risky.

But it was the more painful idea. “I don’t want to not do this,” Spot said, gesturing between them, “I still want to hang out and stuff. But I don’t know—I’m not ready to just—”

“Okay,” David said, “Okay, yeah that’s fine. I like, would want to work _toward_ telling people eventually if "eventually" comes? Would that be okay?”

“Yeah,” Spot said, “Yeah, that’d be fine.”

He walked with David to the library, and David squeezed his hand before walking in. If he hadn’t stormed out of the mailroom he’d be going to work too, but Tie-Dye would have to get by without him this time. He went to the grocery store to get ready for dinner, with David.

He came back to the Lodging House steps an hour later and found Bryan Denton—scholarship advisor extraordinaire—sitting outside the door in his nice suit. He got up when he saw him coming.

“Spot,” he said, casual as you please, “Nice to see you.”

He was wearing the right boots to run, and the groceries weren’t so heavy that they’d slow him down. He could ditch them if he needed to. The sidewalks were icy though, which could slow him down or cause a fall. He didn’t think Aunt Elane would like it much if he fell again.

Plus Denton had his phone number.

“Spot,” Denton said again, “Should we go get coffee?”

Spot lifted up one of his grocery bags, “Can’t,” he said, “I got perishable cheese.”

Denton nodded, “That’s alright, I can come up with you. I’ve been here before.”

“ _No,_ ” Spot said quickly. He’d never had someone over to his home, but a meeting where he found out that he was kicked out of school was not going to be the first time. “You stay. I’ll come back down.”

Denton agreed, and after a ten-minute delay composed of staring at the wall, Spot came down.

"What happened here," he asked, gesturing to Spot's casted arm inside his jacket.

"I fell," Spot said."There are witnesses."

Denton nodded. He chose a Starbucks in Greenwich Village and paid for Spot’s venti coffee with cream and four sugars, and his own espresso. They sat at a table in the back.

“So,” Denton said, “I am proud of you.”

It was so unexpected, so jarring, that Spot stared at him mouth agape for what felt like a full minute but must have been a few seconds. “Proud of me?” he repeated, “What are you, my dad?”

Denton smiled, “I would never suppose that, but I am proud regardless. You achieved an admirable academic record.”

What the fuck was this? Some sick joke? “I got a 2.94,” Spot said, “You’re going to kick me out. That’s what this is right? A nice last meal before you’re done with me?”

For his part, Denton didn’t look surprised by Spot’s response. He just took a ridiculously tiny sip of his ridiculously small drink. “Spot,” he said, “Your GPA results in you being on probation for the Roosevelt Scholarship, but you are certainly not kicked out of the program, or the university. Even if you were dismissed from the program, you would not be dismissed from the university.”

Spot laughed in his face, “Yeah right! And I would what, just start paying the $60,000 a year for the honor of being lectured at about shit I could learn on YouTube.”

Denton smiled. “Right. I understand that. However, you are not being dismissed from the program. Okay? You aren’t. I have a plan for you.” He reached into his bag and brought out a piece of paper that he handed to Spot. It was his schedule, with an underlined addition.

Composition II

Latin II

Business Math

Introduction to Psychology

World Religions

Creative Writing 

“So,” Denton said, before Spot had a chance to respond, “If you take 18 credit hours and get a 4.0, you will have a cumulative 3.5 GPA and you will be in the clear.”

It was overwhelming.

“Creative Writing?” Spot managed to ask.

Denton nodded enthusiastically. “It is a natural fit for your skills, and you will be able to easily pass the class drawing on your abilities.”

“I don’t write stories,” Spot said.

“Your admission story was one of the best stories I’ve ever read,” Denton said.

“That was a job,” Spot said, “I was able to do that because it was my job to write a story the weeping hearts on the board would fall for and let me in.”

Denton furrowed his brows. “But it was true, right?”

“Yeah,” Spot admitted, “That don’t mean I’m going to do it again.”

He waved a hand dismissive of what Spot was saying. “Then make it up. Or take a different class you think you could ace. I don’t mind. What matters is, if you take six classes then you are in the clear.”

Six classes. He would have to juggle six classes on top of his business. He fucked up five classes. Now he was looking at six.

“I failed five classes,” he said.

“You didn’t fail,” Denton said, “You got nearly a B average. That’s good.”

Spot leaned forward. “It’s not good enough for your board of directors. If they’re going to let us poor kids in, they want us to excel, right? It’s not enough that we get here, we have to be the best.”

Denton hesitated. He took a drink of his stupid drink to delay speaking. Spot could tell he hit a nerve. Finally, he said, “The Roosevelt Scholarship is an extraordinary scholarship. Hundreds apply for it, and we accept ten. We _do_ expect that those who are accepted perform extraordinarily.”

“Then you sure made a mistake with me, huh,” Spot said.

Not Denton leaned forward, “No,” he said, “No, I don’t believe we made a mistake with any of you. You got an A in the classes that required writing. Your worse grades were in classes that were heavy on projects, collaboration. That is something you need to work on, especially if you want to stay in economics. I knew when I accepted you that you were an extremely strong writer, and from your background, I should have guessed that other aspects of your classes may be an issue.”

“My background?” Spot said.

“Your spotty educational record,” Denton elaborated, “For example, have you ever done an in-class presentation?”

Had his Introduction to Economics professor said something to Denton? His semester-long group project imploded and resulted in his group members blocking him on every platform and ignoring him while monologued about the history of Wall Street for half the presentation time. Which wasn’t the topic. He got a D on the project.

“Not before now,” Spot admitted. “They’re stupid.”

“If you want to go into business, you’ll have to get used to working with others,” Denton said. “That might be something I can help you work with. We could find a student organization for you to join where you can work on these skills, outside the pressure of academics.”

Spot laughed. “Now you want me to get perfect grades in six classes, and join some stupid club? When am I supposed to sleep?”

“At night,” Denton said, “Maybe instead of drinking and partying?” Spot rolled his eyes. Seriously, the fuck did Denton know everything. “Listen Spot,” Denton said, “I can’t change the rules of your scholarship. You need a 3.5 average by the end of next semester. This plan will help you get it. Now you have to decide if you want it.”

“That’s insulting,” Spot said, “You think I’m so stupid that I don’t want it?”

“I don’t know,” Denton said, “That’s up to you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Spot told David about the meeting with Denton while he made the pasta bake.

He talked a lot.

A lot more than he had so far.

“‘That’s up to you’” Spot quoted mockingly. “The fuck it’s up to me. What the fuck else do I have going on? If I want to get anywhere I have to go to college. I want to be a rich motherfucker and I don’t think I can do that writing fucking papers.”

“That sucks,” David said because he didn’t know what else to say. “Six classes? That’s a lot to deal with. With work and five classes, it’s already so hard. Now he wants to you add another one?”

“Creative Writing,” Spot said, “I’m supposed to come up with stories and turn them in and act like that’s an academic pursuit. That’s bullshit. That’s ridiculous. And Denton thinks that’s an easy A for me? Do I strike you as a creative person?”

“Yes,” David said honestly, “You do.”

“Shut up.”

Hearing about Denton calmly adding more to Spot’s plate stirred up anger in David. If anything he should be letting him take fewer classes while he got used to college. Didn’t Denton know that Spot had only ever gone to an alternative high school, and only for less than two years? Shouldn’t he be in charge of supporting them, not adding to their plate?

The system was unfair. Every single person on the Roosevelt Scholarship had been through so much. And Denton knew it. He set it up so they talked about it before the semester even began. Then they started were expected to just know how to read 300 pages a week, how to write a ton of essays all while being away from their support systems.

As Spot ranted about Stupid Denton and his Stupid Ideas, David couldn’t help but think about his own situation. If he hadn’t spent half the semester trying to figure out how to write an academic paper, maybe he wouldn’t have had such a mad scramble at the end. He felt weird thinking about not completely blaming himself, but he thought of what Spot had said when he confessed that he bought a paper.

_We’re all poor first generation schmucks who went to shit high schools. I don’t know how Denton can look us in the face and ask us to get 3.5’s._

If he thought that he could get less than a B in the class, there’s no way he would have bought a paper. Why wasn’t he willing to risk going on probation? Maybe because going on probation had Spot so stressed out that he was talking to David for more than six words at a time.

“It’s bullshit,” Spot finally said, “You know? I can put in all this energy but then I won’t get a 4.0 and I’ll be kicked out because I’m not perfect. And I’m not perfect. I suck.”

David’s alarm bells went off. “You don’t suck,” he quickly said, “You’re so smart, and you’re nice—”

“I’m _nice?”_

“—to the people you care about. Like, being cared about by you is incredible.”

Spot stopped. “That’s not true.”

“Okay,” David said, “Whatever. I’ll just pretend that you didn’t buy this entire dinner.”

“Thank you,” Spot said, then left, presumably to get alcohol out of David’s room.

David chewed over what to do about his paper. The most time he spent with Spot, the less clear he was on the right thing to do. He spent half his time at the library looking up the consequences of plagiarism at Pulitzer University. If the infraction was considered serious, he would be dismissed from the university. Even minor infractions would result from being dismissed from the Roosevelt program.

Fuck. He fucked up.

“What’s going on with you?” Spot said.

“What?” David said, turning away from the stove, “I’m listening to you.”

“You were,” Spot said, “Now you’re all upset.”

David wasn’t crying, he checked his face and he wasn’t even making any kind of face. He was facing away from Spot when he said that. “I’m fine,” he said.

“Alright, whatever,” Spot said. David put the pasta bake in the oven and set the timer on his phone. He sat down at the table and realized that Spot didn’t have his at the table for once. Just a bottle of whiskey and those two plastic cups that they were always using. Spot poured two fingers of whiskey into each cups and handed one to David.

David took his cup and downed it in three gulps. Spot smirked and held his hand out for another glass to pour him another cup. David took a sip of that one and put it down.

“Do you think everyone else got as fucked over by this semester as we did?” he asked.

Spot rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to anyone but you.”

“Me too,” David said. He’d gotten pictures from Jack, but they hadn’t really talked about it. “I wonder if we asked everyone if we were the only ones who struggled.”

“Well probably,” Spot said, “You’re probably the smartest guy here, and I can fake anything.”

David felt his face flush. It wasn’t true, but it was nice to hear. “I wonder if we asked if people would tell us what their semester was like. I don’t think we’re the only ones who got in it.”

Spot shrugged. “You can ask them. My only friends are you and Racetrack.”

David grinned, “You finally admit we’re friends.”

Spot rolled his eyes and threw a pen at David. “It’s conditional,” he said, “Don’t push me.”

“Oh of course of course,” David said sarcastically, “Your feelings for me are tenuous at best.”

Spot made perfect eye contact with him. “They are.”

“I’m sure.”

With the WiFi in the Lodging House, David was finally able to answer Jack when he FaceTimed him after dinner. He hurried down the hall to his dorm room so the conversation wouldn’t bother Spot. Or be overheard by him.

“David!” Jack said, “How the hell are ya?”

“I’m okay,” David said. Jack was in a different friend’s house, one without a dozen kids and he seemed to be alone in a room.“I went home for a little while.”

Jack interjected excitedly as David explained the trip home. Jack asked a lot of questions about his sister. Sarah was the one who drove him across the country to move into the dorm, and Jack had taken to her instantly. He asked about her often and liked all her Instagram photos.

“She’s fine,” David said dismissively, “Did you…did you get your grades?”

Jack sobered quickly. “Yeah, David. I got my grades in.”

Shit. He didn’t actually think Jack would have problems. Jack with all his bravado, Jack who hosted study groups and was beloved by every project group he was a part of. “I tanked my final paper for Comp I. I don’t know why they didn’t give it back to me or nothing. Just know I tanked it, and now I’m on probation with Denty and he says we gotta meet when I come back.”

“But you were doing so well,” David said, “Just one paper brought you below the 3.5?”

Jack licked his lips and looked off camera. “Yeah, that’s life though right? We already know that. It just takes one bad day and our lives are fucked. You know, think about growing up—if one of our parents got sick and missed a day of work it’s like suddenly there’s no heat. That’s just life.”

Jack didn’t seem bothered by what he was saying, and the crazy thing was that David wasn’t bothered either. He knew it was true, at least in the world that he grew up in. One stumble meant disaster. But he couldn’t help but think of his peers at Pulitzer University—the thousands of students who didn’t have the Roosevelt Scholarship—who could get whatever grades they wanted and as long as they were making academic progress, they could stay. Their lives wouldn’t be ruined. The Roosevelters had to live the same way they grew up: one mistake and it was a disaster.

A plan bloomed that night while they were lying on their mattresses on the floor. Without discussing it, David went to his room to drag his mattress down the hall, and by the time he got to Spot’s room, he was dragging his own mattress of the top bunk.

“Again?” Spot said.

“Again,” David agreed.

As they were falling asleep David risked reaching out to hold Spot’s uncasted hand. He first left his hand on top of Spot’s, then after a moment Spot turned his hand around and grasped David’s hand.

It was exhilarating.

As he was falling asleep, holding the hand of an extraordinary person, he came to a decision.

“Spot,” he whispered.

“What,” Spot groaned.

“I’m going to write my Latin American History paper,” he whispered.

Spot inhaled deeply and shifted on his mattress. “Why?”

“Because I need to,” he said, “I denied myself a learning opportunity, and it’s my job as a student to learn.”

“Oh my god,” Spot muttered, “Are you turning yourself in?”

“No,” David said. He was sure of that too. “No, I’m not letting one mistake destroy my life. I’m going to do something else. I’m going to confront Denton about the GPA requirement.”

Spot sighed and turned towards him. “You’re gonna go activist all over the place?”

“I think so,” David said, “I think it’s wrong, and it’s my responsibility to confront that.”

Spot kissed him gently then rolled away. “Well good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: I don't know if you can tell, but this story is nearing the end D:


	10. New People

Friday came faster than either of them were expecting it. David took out his laptop and dedicated himself to writing his paper on Toussaint Louverture and the Haitian Revolution. When he worked in the common room Spot sat on the couch with him, sometimes tangling their legs together while Spot read one of the books David got from the library.

“Will you read over this when I’m done?” David asked.

“I’m not a professor,” Spot said.

“But you know how to guess what grade an assignment is going to get right? That’s why Quick Papers requires a rubric, so you can write to a grade.”

Spot closed his book. “Are you going to turn this in?” he asked. He’d asked multiple times before. It didn’t escape David’s notice that his working on the paper made Spot nervous.

“I promise I’m not,” David said, “If I did I’d be kicked out of the program. I know plagiarism is wrong, and it’s wrong to escape consequences—“

“Oh jeez,” Spot interrupted.

“—but I did what I had to do, and it sucked. I don’t have to be perfect.”

Spot kicked him in the shin, “You’re right, you know. You don’t have to be this golden boy.”

David kicked him back. “Thanks, bro.”

He tried to teach Spot how to make pasta on Tuesday. It was loud and difficult and resulted in scaling water being poured on the electric burner sending up so much steam that it became evident that the smoke detector was just for decoration.

Once the steam cleared and they had something like pasta to eat, Spot sat down and read David’s essay. It had only taken him two days to write, and he felt a little guilty realizing that it might have been possible for him to write it back at the end of the semester. But, he reasoned, he had four other classes to worry about and extra shifts at the library and—

He still shouldn’t have ordered a paper.

Spot munched on the pasta and typed notes on the paper. “It’s a B- paper,” he said confidently, “Your comparison to the Civil War has base level merit but is weak and needs much more follow up if you want it to anchor the second half of your paper.”

David took the laptop back from him. He looked over the paper. Spot was right. “Did you ever think about being a professor?” he asked.

Spot shook his head, “Just cause I can game this shit doesn’t mean I’m good at it.”

“Seriously,” David said, “Writing papers the way you do, some people do that for a living and they get Ph.D.’s doing it.”

“Stop,” Spot said, “I’m going to be rich and I don’t see Professor Marks driving a Corvette.”

A little while later, when it was quiet, Spot said, “A professor of what though?”

“Anything you wanted,” David said, “What do you like writing papers about the most?”

“I don’t know,” Spot said too quickly, “Shut up. Go back to your guilty paper writing.”

David did.

On Friday they left early to go to the Brooklyn Bridge. The night before Spot calmly said that David had never seen it and that he had to. David was already down on his mattress trying to sleep, and Spot leaned over him in the dark and made the pronouncement.

“You have to,” Spot said simply, “It’s the best part of this city.”

“It’s a bridge,” David yawned. He reached up and batted at Spot, “Get off, sleep.”

“We’re going to the bridge tomorrow,” Spot said, “I want you to see it.”

It was the phrasing that did it. “Okay,” David said, “we’ll go visit a bridge.”

For some reason, they didn’t take the subway. They walked. It was warm for once, the ice was melting off the sidewalk and David was able to walk with his jacket open. Spot had forgone his jacket altogether, even though it wasn’t quite warm enough to merit it. He wrote two flannels over a hoodie, with the knit hat that Aunt Elane had given him.

On the way down to the mouth of the bridge, they stopped in at bookstores and a café where Spot ordered a giant coffee that he immediately lost interest in and forced David to drink. It took an hour to get to the entrance of the “Brooklyn Bridge Promenade,” a wooden walkway that was gated off and suspended between the two lanes of traffic that crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.

“You afraid of heights?” Spot asked, buttoning up the inner layer of his flannel shirts with one hand.

“No,” David said, “Let's go.”

The walkway was wider than he expected, but still narrow and with the rush of traffic thundering below, David might be spooked if he was afraid if heights. He carefully stayed away from the guardrail as they walked. Unexpectedly, Spot reached out and grabbed his hand.

“You okay?” he asked.

David squeezed his hand. “I’m fine.

It was strange, walking suspended above the traffic and with all of the architecture of the bridge up close. They were quiet as they walked, weaving around others on the bridge. David was shocked that Spot was willing to hold hands in public, but he supposed with the crowd it wasn’t obvious, and they would never see these people again. That must have been Spot’s logic.

After only fifteen minutes of walking, they were halfway across the bridge and there was a small opening of the walkway with a few vendors and plaques with the history of the bridge. They let go of eaother'sers hands and Spot bought a soda while David read the plaques.

Much of the history wasn’t new, there was some information at the Museum of the City of New York that David read. He skimmed the plaques until one piece of information stood out.

_The Brooklyn Bridge opened to the public on May 24 th, 1883_

His mind flashed to the gold numbers on Spot’s cast. Spot wouldn’t let him write anything else on his cast, insisting it was black for a reason. David pretended to keep reading until Spot showed up with a Fanta in his hand.

“5, 24, 1883,” David said casually.

“Yep,” Spot said.

“Do you…want to say more about that?” David asked.

Spot shrugged. “Boots is the one who wrote it. We used to come out here all the time, planning on going to Manhattan. We never made it though, we just got to this point and pretended to read the plaques while I lifted wallets. It wasn’t the safest place to do it. There’s only two directions to run, and if it went bad it’d go real bad. But we liked it out here. It felt like being part of history. Like we were part of it here, even if we weren’t anything else.”

David breathed deeply and traced his fingers over the numbers on the plaque. “You’re going to be part of history all over the place.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Spot said, pulling him away from the plaque. David let him. He felt no small amount of gratitude that Spot was taking him here, to a piece of his history. He knew that most of it was on the other side of the bridge, but he didn’t fight when Spot pushed against his back and directed him back towards Manhattan on the wooden planks.

They killed time around lower Manhattan and by the time they got home, it wasn’t home anymore. Not just their home, anyway.

Voices filled the stairwell as they walked up, and when they got in the hall itw as clear that they were no longer along. Someone who David didn’t now was walking down the hall with someone who was probably his dad, and he hear voices down the hall by Spot’s room.

Spot dropped his hand.

“Well,” he said, “I guess that could only last so long.”

They’d thought ahead and put David’s mattress back in his room that morning. Jack was coming in that evening, and Racetrack would be in the Lodging House in the morning. David walked down the hall with Spot, looking for someone he knew, another Roosevelter. The door to Crutchy and Swifty’s rom was closed. The door to Skittery and Dutchy’s room was open, and Dutchy was in there sitting on his bed with headphones on.

“Not now,” Spot said, “Everyone just got here.”

Someone yelled Spot’s name and he ignored it. He was focused on David and they were standing in the hall and someone came banging by them with a giant suitcase.

“I could just go in there,” David said, “No one is here. There’s not going to be a better time.”

Spot held his hands up, “Whatever, it’s your agenda.” He split off into his room and David went to Dutchy’s door.

He knocked on Dutchy’s door. Dutchy sat up and took off his headphones. He looked confused to see David. They weren’t exactly strangers, they’d gone though the Rooseveler week together and Denton’s meetings, but they didn’t hang out.

“Hey David,” he said, his Minnesotan accent stronger than usual from the weeks at home, “How’s it going?”

David let himself in, “It’s good, Dutchy,” he said, “Can I sit down?”

Dutchy laughed nervously. “Sure thing David, you’re always welcome here.”

The last time he’d been in this room Skittery was smoking on the top bunk and Racetrack was leading a card game on the floor with some non-Roosevelters who had no idea what they were up against. David was drinking rum for the first time, and Jack was sitting on Dutchy’s bed chatting up a girl from upstairs. He wasn't sure how they ended up there considering Skittery hated them all. 

It was no coincidence that all the Roosevelters were rooming with each other, but David wondered if some sort of matchmaking had gone into who roomed with who. He and Jack in some ways were cut from the same cloth, but in most ways couldn’t be more different. Then there was Skittery and Dutchy. At first glance they seemed like a good match, both introvert, but Skittery smoked and yelled at people for making noise and Dutchy spent all his time bent over books, reading like it was his job. They weren't friends. 

Really, he and Dutchy should have been roommates. David was glad they weren’t.

Over the course of the semester, David rarely saw Dutchy. He was never at room parties, but sometimes when David was working late at the library he saw Dutchy taking a nap in the back corner by the couches with a book open on his chest.

David sat down at Skittery’s desk. “Can I ask you about something?”

“Sure David,” Dutchy said, “Anything.”

“How did your semester go?”

Dutchy smiled, “It was alright.”

“Yeah?” David said, “You didn’t have any problems with your classes?”

“Well,” Dutchy said, “I didn’t…I didn’t exactly have an easy time. But I got the 3.5 GPA, and that’s what matters.”

David knew he should congratulate Dutchy, but he couldn’t help pressing on, “You didn’t have an easy time?” he repeated.

Dutchy pushed is glasses up his nose. “I don’t know if you knew this, but I have dyslexia, and it took a long time for Pulitzer to get the records from all the high schools I went to. I was supposed to have extra time on tests, but I didn’t get it until the last half. So it was a little rough in the beginning.”

“Wasn’t Denton supposed to help with that?”

Dutchy nodded eagerly, “Yeah, he did. He called all my high schools, and got me set up with the Accessibility Office. It just took them too long to fax the records so…” Dutchy shrugged, “Whatever. I got the 3.5 so it’s fine.”

“How’d you manage to do that after having a rough start?” David asked.

Dutchy laughed a little hysterically. “Not sleeping? It takes me longer than other people to get through readings and they expect a crapton of reading here. Plus I convinced Professor Isador to let me do this whole extra credit project that required research at an NYU library, which is far.”

He seemed invested in talking about this, like he hadn’t had the chance to rehash the semester yet. David wondered if like him, Dutchy felt the need to play up how well the semester had gone to his family. How could they complain when they were the lucky ones who went to college?

“I started getting stomach pains in November, and it turned out I had an ulcer. Right? An ulcer. I got meds for that. I’m really lucky though, it could have gone badly.”

In David’s opinion, it _had_ gone badly. “That sucks, man,” he said. “Listen,” he said, “I’m going to talk to Denton about how the 3.5 GPA requirement puts too much pressure on us. Can I tell him your story?”

Instead of responding with the same investment, or switching to rejection, Dutchy was just confused. “Wait, what? What are you going to tell him?”

“It’s not just you,” David said, “The pressure to get a high GPA in order to stay in the program is negatively effecting the students. We shouldn’t be sacrificing our helath in order to keep up with this excessive expectation.”

Dutchy shook his head. “Look. They literally pay us to be here. They pay for our books, they bought us laptops. I don’t care what they ask me to do, I’m going to do it.”

David had anticipated this argument. He’d been going over his meeting with Denton in his head for days. “We earned our spot here. I don’t know about you, but I don’t meet the admission requirements for Pulitzer on my own. That meets that Putlizer or the Roosevelt scholarship should be providing more support to help us succeed, not sending us out and expecting us to figure it out and excel.”

“Are you saying poor kids can’t do well in college?” Dutchy asked, sounding angry for the first time.

“ _No,_ ” David said, “Not at all. I’m saying it’s not fair to hold us to a higher standard than the rest of the student population, and stake our survival on it.”

Dutchy looked at him doubtfully. “If you bring this to Denton, he’s going to think we can’t hack it. _I_ can hack it. Just because you can’t doesn’t mean it’s a problem.”

Fuck. David was expecting overall support. Was he wrong? Was he making this into a universal problem just because he couldn’t hack it, as Dutchy had said?

“You had an ulcer from the stress of trying to get the right GPA,” David said, “What if you’d been allowed to just get by this semester? You could have—”

“Stop,” Dutchy said, holding up a hand, “Don’t say anything to Denton about me. Just leave me out of it.” He put on his headphones again and ignored David. The message was clear. It was time to leave.

 

Spot had gone eighteen years and six months without ever once speaking to David Jacobs, but after three weeks he suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself without him. He went to his room and crashed on his couch with his laptop. To kill time he started looking over the papers he’d written over the course of the semester, both for his own classes and for Quick Papers.

The quality of the Quick Papers had shot up once he started college because he was able to figure out what college professors actually wanted. He felt bad for the clients he wrote college papers for back when he was an idiot high schooler running a business from a library computer. They can’t have gotten very good grades. His own papers had perfect grades after the first few months, and he was especially proud of his paper on the use of metal in the American Revolution.

If he allowed himself to be proud of anything that stupid, that was.

David came in without knocking, looking defeated. He closed the door and collapsed on the couch with a sigh.

“Dutchy accused me of being classist,” he said.

“Did Dutchy really say anything that assertive?” Spot said doubtfully.

“No,” David admitted, “He said it’s wrong that I expected that poor kids can’t get a good GPA.”

Spot felt defensiveness of David rise, and he wanted to walk across the hall and give Dutchy a piece of his mind, “That ain’t what you said,” Spot said, “You just think it’s bullshit that we have to get this fucking GPA when most of us barely got to stay in high school.”

“But they’re investing all this money in us,” David said, arguing against himself.

“Cause they want us to be fucking success stories,” Spot said, “You think it’s a coincidence that they pick the kids with the biggest sob stories for this scholarship? Look at me. I barely went to high school and now I’m supposed to do college level math like it’s no problem? That’s bullshit.”

“I wish I’d never committed to confronting Denton,” David said. “I feel like a fraud.”

Spot grabbed David’s head and dragged it down to his shoulder. It seemed like the right thing to do. “Then don’t. I don’t give a shit. Dutchy doesn’t want you to.”

“Jack does,” David said, “And I’ve already made a commitment. Just because we’re scholarship kids doesn’t mean we have to kill ourselves to stay here.”

David had said this about seven different ways in the past couple days. Spot could tell he was trying to convince himself of it. “You aren’t wrong,” he said, “But you don’t have to do this.”

David sighed. “Can I hug you?”

“Yep,” Spot said.

David reached around and squeezed him. Spot closed his laptop. “I didn’t realize this was going to become some kind of revolution.”

“I’m surprising,” David said quietly, “You never know what you’re getting with David Jacobs.”

Spot snorted, “Yes, you’re a real wild man.”

 

Jack jumped on David and hugged him tight, like they were being reunited on Ellis Island.

David choked. “Can’t—breathe.”

“Davey Jacobs,” Jack said, not letting him go, “Oh boy, have I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” David goaned, pushing Jack off him.

“I missed your snoring,” Jack went on, dropping his bags on his side of the room, “I missed the way you talk while you think, which is always. I missed the disapproving look you give me when I drink on school nights. Oh boy Davey, has it been hard to drink without that look.”

David rolled his eyes. “Your train trip was okay?”

Jack grinned and showed him the Instagram of the girl who he met on the train ride home. She lived in New Jersey, which Jack referred to as a “surmountable problem.”

David forgot how full and light the room felt when Jack was in it. Jack had a way of commanding every room he was in, including his own while he and David were trying to go to sleep. David couldn’t find an excuse to get away to go to Spot, or invite him to dinner. The dining hall was finally open again, and David saw Spot across the dining hall at dinner time, sitting with Skittery and Swifty.

It was weird falling asleep without the sound of Spot moving around beside him, or feeling the warmth of his body. He didn’t know how in the course of less than a week he had become so used to having Spot to himself, but he had. Lying in the dark on his own bed in his own room, he texted Spot.

_How was your night?_

Spot replied quickly, _Spiffy_

_I missed you_

_Shut up_

_Have you thought more about the whole telling people thing? We’re missing out on some serious hang out time if we don’t._

Spot didn’t reply to that.

 

Racetrack was a decent guy. He texted Spot seven times to let him know that hew as coming in at 4 AM. Spot set an alarm for half an hour beforehand so that he wasn’t surprised by Racetrack coming in the room, but Racetrack still carefully snuck into the room. He immediately saw that Spot was awake—the fucking light was on—but he still quietly put his rolly suitcase in the closet before climbing on top of the dresser and hooking his arms over the edge of Spot’s bed.

“My my,” he whispered, “what are you doing up at this hour?”

“I was waiting up for you sweet thing,” Spot said, reaching out and going to stroke Racetrack’s face. Racetrack batted him away. “These past three weeks, all I’ve been able to think about is you, just you.”

“I’m deeply flattered,” Racetrack said. He jumped off the bunk and Spot sat up and leaned over the edge of his bed. “My flight was wonderful, thank you very much for asking. I saw the sights, I felt all the feelings. It was great.”

Spot jumped off the top bunk. “You going to sleep?”

“Nah,” Racetrack said, then he turned around, “Dear me,” he said, grabbing for Spot’s cast. Spot pulled away. “What happened to you?”

“I fell,” Spot said, “The floor was slippery without a thousand people marching their grubby feet all around.”

“You gonna be able to take notes?” Racetrack asked.

“Who are you, Denton?” Spot said. He’d already had this conversation. “I can type okay, it’ll be fine.” He changed the subject, “If you’re staying up, you wanna go get food?”

Race fist bumped. “Hell yes,” he said.

They ended up at a 24 hour diner where Race ordered a half a dozen things including grilled cheese, a cheeseburger, fries, curly fries and two sodas. He devoured half, all while talking to Spot about this time in New Orleans.

“My pops is half a minute away from getting divorced again,” Race said through a mouthful of fries. “His new wife—new since I came here mind you—is having a full blown affair with the neighbor. It is. something. to. see. She don’t even hide it. Incredible. What about you?”

Spot delayed responding because it took him a minute to realize that Race was involving him in his monologue. “I’m pretty disappointed to hear your step mom’s taken.”

Race waved his fork. “Not my step-mom. Ain’t none of them ever been my stepmom. Besides, she ain’t your type.”

Spot felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Racetrack was always making comments like that, offhand comments like he knew and had already had a conversation with Spot about it. And he didn’t care.

“No,” Spot agreed. “Probably not.”

Race didn’t flinch. Even at 4 AM it was too loud in the diner for anyone to overhead his half confession. No one showed up and tried to kill him. He was in the clear.

“Thank God, for me,” Racetrack said, “This Greek tragedy can’t afford to get any more complicated. But for real,” he chewed and swallowed and spoke clearly for the first time since sitting down, “What did you get up to while you missed me so terribly?”

He thought of showing David the Brooklyn Bridge, sliding around with him and lying on the floor next to him at night. He couldn’t tell Racetrack any of that. But he thought of David’s text last night. If he pretended that he and David were in the same place that they were before winter break—near strangers—then they wouldn’t be able to hang out. Spot didn’t have to announce he was gay to everyone in order to keep hanging out with him.

“I hung out with David Jacobs,” Spot admitted, “He was the only other one still here, so we just like. Watched movies. We—”

“Netflix and Chill!” Racetrack interrupted, “He’s the one you were chilling with!”

“It wasn’t Netflix and Chill,” Spot said too quickly, “We were just hanging out.”

Racetrack held his hands up. “Alright alright!” he said. “Forget what I said. David Jacobs is a decent guy, you picked a good replacement friend for while I was gone.”

“I’m gonna keep hanging out with him,” Spot said defensively.

Racetrack made a face that communicated _duh_. “Yeah, great. You have more than one friend. Congratulations.”

Spot was embarrassed. He rubbed his face under the excuse that he was tired. Racetrack was apparently too hungry to wait for Spot to change into jeans, so he was in public in plaid pajama pants and his jacket thrown over his t-shirt. That’s why he was embarrassed. He was in public in pajamas like an idiot.

“David’s a good guy,” Spot said.

“Right,” Racetrack said, “the best.”

“Yeah,” Spot said, “he’s pretty good.”

 

The next morning Crutchy came to their room to see if they wanted to come to breakfast with him, grinning as always. Jack was still asleep but David accepted, and used the meal as an excuse to get Crutchy’s opinion on going to Denton about the GPA requirement. He expected relentlessly cheerful Crutchy to be on Dutchy’s side but he wasn’t.

“It’s not the GPA you see,” he said, “It’s that we need more support. You know? If we’re going to do so well—and we can do so well—we gotta have tutoring. We gotta have seminars on college life. I didn’t know what I was getting into. Did you know what you were getting into?”

David was thrilled to have someone on his side. “No,” he agreed, “I had no idea.”

“And it’s not just us,” Crutchy said, “We’re not the only ones who are lost around here, you know. There’s only ten of us, but there’s hundreds of freshman on this campus who are lost. Remember Patrick? He emailed me that he dropped out?”

“Patrick did?”

“Yeah, he’s gone. It’s such a shame.”

After breakfast Crutchy directed David to talk to his roommate Swifty who talked about how he had to give up dance lessons halfway through the semester in order to stay on top of his studies. “But that’s school for you,” he said doubtfully, “You have to make sacrifices.”

“Aren’t you here as a dance major?” David asked.

Swifty shrugged, “Listen, have you talked to Spot Conlon?”

David blinked. “Why?” he asked. Had Spot been talking about this?

Swifty shrugged again, “If Spot Conlon is part of this, I—not that I wouldn’t take it seriously if it’s just you. But if Spot Conlon is part of it, I’d let you tell Denton about me quitting my lessons.”

“He is,” David said, “He supports it.”

“Then you can,” Swifty said, “Tell Denton these rules suck.”

Throughout the day David talked to the rest of the Roosevelters except Racetrack, and Spot who were nowhere to be found. Everyone either hadn’t made the 3.5 GPA, or struggled to get there. David got directed to talk to Specs, a senior who happened to be in the lodging house who was a Roosevelter.

“I hear you’re trying to shake thing up,” Specs said.

“Not exactly,” David said, “I’m just trying to figure out what’s fair.”

Specs nodded. “Well everyone breaks their back trying to get the 3.5 GPA the first year. Half of us have no idea what we’re doing. Second semester is better, then once you get in the major classes and know what you’re doing then it’s okay. That’s why none of us have gotten kicked out of the program. Well, that and Denton.”

“Denton?” David asked.

“Denton don’t want anyone getting out of the program, once there’s a problem he makes sure we’re okay and get what we need.”

“But not until there’s a problem,” David realized.

He was becoming clearer and clearer on what he was saying to Denton. He texted Spot but didn’t get a response, just like he hadn’t all day. That night he went to Spot’s room and knocked on the door.

Racetrack answered the door, and smiled at David in a way that he never had before. “Davey!” he said loudly, “Finally you show up!”

“Shut up!” Spot yelled from inside.

David ignored both of them and came inside. “Alright if I come in?” he asked.

Spot was on the couch with his laptop. He looked up and David then looked back down. “You’re already in.”

“I’m gonna bounce,” Racetrack said, and walked backwards out the door.

Then they were alone.

“You haven’t answered my texts,” David said.

“Been busy,” Spot said, not looking away from his laptop.

“Could you just like…look at me?” David asked.

Spot didn’t move. These moments of silences were different now that there was the sound of 40 guys on the floor, shouting at each other and throwing things. Spot’s silence was loud. Finally, after an extended moment, Spot looked at him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” David said, “You haven’t answered my texts.”

Spot closed his laptop. “I told Racetrack,” he said abruptly. “About—not everything. But about us being friends.”

David laughed a little. That wasn’t what he expected. “Oh,” he said, “That’s it? That’s _good_ news.”

“I’m sorry,” Spot said, “I couldn’t tell him the whole thing.”

David looked behind him to make sure the door was closed. He went to the couch and came up close to Spot, reaching to put his hands through his hair. Spot closed his laptop and closed his eyes, letting him. “Hey, that’s okay,” he said, “You don’t have to tell anyone in a hurry.”

“Have you told anyone?” Spot asked.

“No,” David said, “I did—you’ll find this funny actually—Swifty asked me if you supported me going to Denton. I told him that you did.”

Spot laughed, “I barely know Swifty.”

“People look up to you, you know. When you take a stance, it changes things.”

“I don’t take stances,” Spot said.

“You could,” David said.

Spot shrugged him off, moving his head away from his hands. “I head you were kicking the shit today. Asking everyone about their grades like some nosy asshole.”

“Asshole?” David said.

“You know what I mean. Have you figured out what you’re going to do about Denton?”

David nodded. Hearing everyone’s stories had crystallizedzed it for him. “Do you want to come with me? You could tell him that it’s bullshit that you have to take six classes next semester.”

“I already did,” Spot said, “It didn’t make a difference. I’m not like you, I can’t talk nice and make people believe what I say. This is on you.”

David sighed, “Remember like, three days ago when we were just having fun on winter break?”

Spot made a face, “I don’t remember that. You’ve been half miserable about this the entire time.”

David thought about it, about the feelings of guilt and panic that was under the surface every minute that he and Spot weren’t touching each other. Spot couldn’t fix it, but damn he had helped. He didn’t know if going to Denton was going to make him feel better, he might feel guilty about buying that damn paper for the rest of his life. But he had to do _something._

“I’m afraid I’m never going to feel okay again,” David admitted.

Spot leaned forward and kissed him. They drew together for a moment, breaking away too quickly. “I know,” Spot said, “I—I feel that way all the time.”

“You do?” David said surprised.

“Yeah,” Spot said, “I feel like I’m one fuck up away from my life blowing up.”

David nudged him on the shoulder. “Do…can I help with that at all?”

Spot shrugged. “I think it’s for me to deal with.”

“Mine too,” David said. “Being with you is nice though. It’s more than a distraction. I feel like I’m doing something right when I’m with you.”

He could see the flush spread up Spot’s face. It was so damn endearing to watch someone who had so many walls up come apart for him. “If you need me to tell people—”

“I don’t,” David insisted, “I mean, someday. But not today.”

Spot turned towards David, and David returned his hand to Spot’s hair. “I thought about what class I want to take. I still want to be an Economics major, I want some fucking money, but. I think it wouldn't be terrible to take a Creative Writing class.”

“I thought you had no interest weren't creative,” David teased.

“I'm not,” Spot said, “I just...think it will be easy enough. I can fake my way through it.”

David smiled. “Okay,” he said, feeling like if he said the wrong thing he would stop Spot from talking, and he didn’t want that. “Okay, that sounds good.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Spot asked.

“Not at all,” David said, “Do you think I’m stupid for going to Denton?”

“Kind of,” Spot admitted.

David laughed. “Okay,” David said, “I think I am too."


	11. Fellas

To: bdenton@pulitzer.edu  
From: djacobs@pulitzer.edu  
Subject: Concerns about Program / 1/7/2017

Hello Denton

This is David Jacobs. I am writing because I would like to meet with you at the earliest convenience to discuss some concerns I have about the Roosevelt Program and the experiences of students in the program at Pulitzer University. I am initiating this meeting on my own, and no other students are associated with me. Please let me know when you are available on Monday or Tuesday.

Thank you

David Jacobs

 

To: djacobs@pulitzer.edu  
From: bdenton@pulitzer.edu  
Subject: Re: Concerns about Program / 1/7/2017

David

I am happy to hear concerns about the program at any time. My goal is that this is the strongest program possible. Please come to my office after your last class on Monday (around 4:00?) and we will talk about your concerns.

Denton

 

On Sunday—late in David’s opinion—their book vouchers came over email and Jack organized a group trip to the bookstore. He grabbed David by the elbow and dragged him down the hall, knocking on Kid Blink and Mush’s door first.

“Group trip to the bookstore,” Jack said, “C’mon, get your shoes on, get your coats on, we’re going now.”

“Aw, c’mon Jack,” Blink said, “Don’t no one do any of those readings. We don’t need the books.”

“What are you stupid?” Jack yelled, “Of course we need the books, everyone needs the books. Get moving, we’re going now and we’re not leaving without you.”

By some miracle, all ten of them were on the floor, and within ten minutes they were following Jack to the bookstore half a mile North. While they walked people elbowed towards David to talk to him. Everyone knew what he was doing by now, and most of them supported him.

“Tell Denton we gotta have a workshop on academic integrity,” Mush said, “I didn’t do an in-text citation and a professor threatened to report me for plagiarism.”

David felt his heart stop for a moment. Mush couldn’t possibly know, could he? Spot was standing next to him and nudged him to respond. David cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said, “Yeah, I’ll tell him.”

Mush nodded, “Good. Remember the week before the semester, he said we were the future? Tell him he’s right.”

David smiled. “I will.”

Eventually, people lost interest in David, and he fell to the back of the crowd with Spot. “Did you figure out how you’re going to take notes?” he asked.

Spot shook his casted arm. “I took a typing test last night, my speed is down to 40 words per minute, which is the speed you plebeians type at, so I’ll be fine. I don’t need some schmuck following around taking notes for me.”

David was pretty sure that wasn’t how it worked, but he didn’t correct Spot. The fact that Spot was even willing to admit that he was typing slower than he was before marked a willingness to be vulnerable that Spot didn’t have at the beginning of break. It blew David away every single time Spot admitted his feelings or perceived weaknesses to David. He knew it was remarkable, and he didn’t know what he’d done to earn it.

“You gonna let me carry your books?” he asked quietly.

Spot’s response was loud. He yelled, “Nah, Racetrack is carrying my books, ain’t that right?”

Racetrack was up ahead in the crowd and yelled back, “Oh yes, I live to serve Signore Conlon!”

Swifty piped up, “I can help too!”

Spot laughed. “See, I got fans. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Jack decided to throw the first room party of the semester. Because of course he did. He didn’t ask permission from David before announcing in the bookstore check out that the party was starting at 11 in their room.

“It’s a school night,” David said quietly.

Jack waved him off. “They don’t to nothing on the first day, we’ll be fine. The only problem is I was planning on using my leftover booze, but _someone_ drank it all. I remember a David Jacobs who’d never had a beer before and now look at you. Drinking most of a bottle of whiskey all on your own.”

David looked around the checkout line to see if anyone heard the levels he’d sunk to. Skittery was up ahead arguing with the cashier, and Swifty and Crutchy were behind them wrapped up in conversation. Spot was with Racetrack, still looking for his books.

“I didn’t drink it all on my own,” he said quietly, “Spot helped a lot.”

Jack’s smile became stiff, “You really hung out with him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” David said defensively, “It was just us here, and we had a good time. He’s a good guy you know, once you get to know him.”

Jack whistled. “David Jacobs drinking with Spot Conlon. Never thought I’d see it coming.”

 _David Jacobs making out with and sleeping on the floor with Spot Conlon,_ he thought, _David Jacobs confessing his greatest secrets to Spot Conlon and relying on his opinions for absolution._

Jack didn’t know the half of it.

“I’ll get Spot to bring a bottle,” David said, “He’s the one who mostly drank yours, he owes us one.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “You can’t get Spot Conlon to do anything.”

“I can,” David said, hoping he wasn’t revealing too much.

The room party was the same as all room parties. Roosevelters and some other guys crammed into Jacks room, playing terrible music that Jack sang along to while David tried in vain to find enough cups for everyone who showed up.

This time though, Spot was sitting on his bed, watching him dig through his plastic bin for cups, drinking slowly. He was being fully unhelpful and David eventually said, “Would you please go to your room and get the pizza cups?”

“Only if you come with me,” Spot said.

David looked around to see what was happening. Kid Blink was on his bed next to Spot, but his focus was on chatting up Skittery—unsuccessfully—and Jack was preoccupied with singing his heart out.

“Yeah,” David agreed, shutting the plastic bin. “Okay.”

They walked down the hall and reached Spot’s room just as Racetrack was coming out of it with a deck of cards in hand. David groaned internally. The room party was about to get unnecessarily intense because of one of Race’s games.

Racetrack looked between them. “You want I should wait a bit before coming back?”

Spot shoved him, just this side of playful. “Shut up,” he said, “Go lose all your money.”

“I’m gonna win the money of everyone on this floor,” Racetrack said, bouncing back immediately, “I’m gonna be rich.”

“First time for everything,” Spot said, shoving past him into the dorm room. David followed.

When the door closed David cleared his throat, “Does Racetrack know?”

“No,” Spot said, so easily that David was sure that Spot hadn’t picked up on what Racetrack’s comment suggested. “I didn’t tell him, did you?”

“No,” David said, “You know, when you’re ready to tell, people, he’d probably be an easy first one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Spot said, grabbing the plastic cups. “He’s such a narcissist he probably won’t even hear me tell him.”

 _No,_ David thought, _because he already knows._ He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to spook Spot.

Spot headed for the door but then hesitated. The cups were balanced in the crook of his good arm, and he shot a look back at David before locking the door. “As long as he’s gone though…”

David grinned. “Yeah?”

Spot dropped the cups and reached up to grasp David’s face. “Yeah, let’s neck like teenagers.”

 

On Monday Spot woke up early. Racetrack was still snoring on the bunk below him, so he quietly climbed down and went to the common room with his laptop.

David was in the common room, watching TV.

“Hey,” Spot said quietly. He looked around to make sure no one else was in the room. David stood up in time for Spot to reach him and kiss him. They kissed quickly then Spot pulled back and hugged David. It felt so good just to touch someone like this, without having to be afraid of anything besides someone coming in the common room door.

“What are you doing up?” David asked, pulling away.

“Just woke up,” Spot said, “My sleep schedule’s always been a little fucked up. What are you doing up?”

David crashed onto the couch, and Spot followed. “I can’t sleep when I’m nervous. I have two classes today, and the meeting with Denton.”

“You’ll be fine,” Spot said.

“I might not be,” David said, “What if my classes are even harder, or Denton thinks I’m a spoiled brat for even bringing these things up?”

Spot knew he was supposed to say that those things couldn’t happen, but they could. “Whatever, you’ll be fine.”

David laughed his short loud laugh. “I will not.”

“You _will,”_ Spot said, “I’ll still like you, even if you are a loser no good spoiled brat who fails super hard at all your classes this semester.”

“Oh thank you,” David said, “I appreciate that.”

They got breakfast together, and it wasn’t quite as good as all the bagels that they ate over break, but Spot couldn’t be mad at having an omelet bar in the dining hall. David was nervous during breakfast, Spot could tell, and he wished that he was able to reach across the table and hold his hand. He wished they were still alone.

“Okay,” David said at 7:30. “I gotta get to class.”

“You have an 8 AM?” Spot asked.

“Yes.”

“Stupid.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you after I meet with Denton?”

Spot nodded. He reached over and squeezed David’s forearm. “I’ll see you then.”

He got a text from his supervisor in the mailroom that he was officially let go after missing three shifts, and he deleted it immediately. Fuck that. He had his class on American Labor Unions that morning.

Right now all he wanted was to go to class and see his person at the end of the day. Sometime over break some ancient wall inside him had come down and he found himself wanting things. He wanted to see David—soon. He wanted to not fuck his classes, not just because he needed to stay in school, but because he wanted to know things he didn’t already know. He was allowed to want things, even silly minor things that made him happy.

 

David’s heart was beating along at a steady rate. He thought he’d be nervous, but his mind was clear. He knew what he wanted to say.

“David?” Denton opened the door to his office and poked his head out. “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” he said.

Denton had an office in the Student Affairs wing of a building a quarter mile from the Lodging House. David had been to it a few times, mostly for paperwork or to talk about money, but never for a sitdown meeting like this. His office was a small square, with a desk facing the window that overlooked an alley, and two cushioned chairs facing one another. Denton sat down in one and gestured to David to sit in the other.

“Please,” Denton said, his voice bright and open like it always was, “I always want to hear your thoughts.”

David started simple. All the Roosevelters were incredibly smart and capable. That said, many of the students were overwhelmed by the 3.5 GPA requirement. Denton nodded thoughtfully. Then he went into the more serious. Over half of the students in his cohort didn’t have health insurance. They were all underprepared for what was asked of them and had insufficient support.

Denton nodded thoughtfully, “You understand,” he said, “with the stipend and books and laptops, you have more support and lower GPA requirements than many other scholarships.”

David shook his head. He was ready for that. “Those scholarships aren’t explicitly targeted towards students who have experienced adversity. You know that we all have gaps, things that we struggle with, but we’re expected to perform higher than the average student. A laptop doesn’t teach us how to write a college essay. A stipend doesn’t help much if one of us—you know, for example—breaks our arm and has to go to the emergency room without insurance. I spoke to some upperclassmen and it’s clear that there’s a major learning curve for most of us. For all freshman really, to some extent. But you’re not responsible for all freshman. You’re responsible for us.”

Denton nodded sagely. “David, I will not lie to you. I’ve been aware of these issues.”

“You have?” David said, incredulous, “Then why haven’t you done anything?”

“I’ve proposed a mentorship program between the recipients, more seminars. It’s up to the board to enact those changes. I’m sorry, but I’m just the middleman.”

David shook his head. “That’s not good enough. If students are suffering, then it’s the board’s job to make a change. So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to invite me to the next board meeting, and we’re going to propose the changes you brought up, and the lowering of the GPA requirement for the first semester. Okay?”

Denton laughed. David did not appreciate that much. “David. You got a 3.75 GPA for the semester. Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

David cleared his throat and thought of the paper that he wrote that Spot meticulously graded with a red pen. “I sacrificed a major part of who I am to get that GPA,” he said, “And I don’t want anyone else to feel like they have to do that.”

That part of him, the part that valued honesty above all else, who believed that society was founded on it, may have taken a hit but it wasn’t gone. David wouldn’t be here if it was. He could still be someone who valued the truth even if he made a mistake. Maybe even more than before.

Denton nodded. “Alright. So we will go to the board.”

When he left the office, the first thing he saw was Spot standing in the hallways with his black cast and his green jacket. David knew Denton could see them, knew Spot might not be okay with it, but reason overran his mind as he rushed over and hugged Spot. Spot patted him on the back and pulled away.

“You good?” he asked.

“I’m good,” David said, “I’m going to go to the board to make a proposal,” he said.

Denton stuck his head out in the hall, “Spot,” he said, “Were you involved in this?”

Spot took a step towards David, “Nah,” he said, “This was all David.”

“Well,” Denton said, “You should be proud to count him as a friend.”

“Oh believe me,” Spot said, “He thinks so too.”

 

It has started snowing, light fat flakes falling onto their shoulders and hair as they walked East on the sidewalk. They walked shoulder to shoulder, David zipping up his coat as he walked.

It was hard to believe that only three weeks ago David was facing what seemed like an impossibly long winter break of sitting around the Lodging House alone. He remembered the deep despair he felt, the loneliness. In that short time, he had started something new with Spot, something he never saw coming. Spot was the biggest surprise of his life. Someone fiercely smart and independent, who thought David would buy his excuses for buying him food and sending him home on a visit home he badly needed.

He wondered if the would stay together, or somehow form a label for what they were. He hoped they would. He hoped that with some encouragement and evidence that the world wouldn’t end, Spot would be willing to tell other people able to tell people about them. He’d changed since they started. David had changed too.

David took a deep breath and breathed out, watching his breath cloud in the dusky light. The semester was ahead of him, and he was determined to not lose himself again. He was never fully lost, not really. He wouldn’t sacrifice who he was for a grade. No grade was worth it.

“What are you thinking about?” Spot asked.

“Nothing,” David said, “everything. Do you think things are going to change now that winter break is over?”

Spot didn’t pause, “Yeah, but we can handle it. We’re hearty bastards.”

At a street corner, they stopped. “Where are we going?” David asked.

“Dunno,” Spot said, “Wherever you want to go.” He reached for David’s hand and squeezed, then dropped it quick as anything. “Should we go rogue?”

David grinned. “Yeah, let’s see what happens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! This was planned over a long time and written in the course of 12 days (yikes!) and I'm so proud of it and happy to share it with you! I'm interested in continuing this verse, if there's something that stood out that you want to see more of let me know in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted fic in 9000 years but this was sitting ready to go and I wanted to get it out there, even if it is July. Comments are always appreciated and so is you reading!!


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